


Edgar Allan Potato

by emeraldcitydowntowngirl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, and others like that
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Eventual Smut, F/F, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Pete Wentz Is Sad, Poetry, Recreational Drug Use, Trans Male Character, alcohol used as a coping mechanism is referenced a lot, and they're slowly gonna get worse, because they happen more than once, but its also recreational, confusing feelings, i can't believe that's a tag but it's true, past emotional abuse, rape mention, so just watch out for that, strong friendship groups, there ARE some graphic depictions of violence in pete's nightmares, trans background character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-01-26 11:16:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 143,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12556224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldcitydowntowngirl/pseuds/emeraldcitydowntowngirl
Summary: When Edgar Allan Potato's main competitor, Moon Café, introduces desserts at their eatery, owner Pete Wentz is desperate to find someone who can bring his restaurant back up to speed. What he doesn't bargain for, however, is that person being Patrick Stump, AKA the God of Desserts. And what he doesn't bargain for either, is the black ribbon wrapped around Patrick's wrist, where his soulmate mark should be.(OR: another soulmate AU but pete and patrick's names don't say each other)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok i know i said i was gonna repost this when i had finished the fic but honestly that would have been in the year 2020! so... im just gonna post as i write, because im weak :/
> 
> im uploading this first chapter that was already posted AND the second chapter, because i feel like it would be a total dick move if i only posted what i had already written :'( i hope you guys enjoy!!!

When Pete Wentz found out that his main competitor, Moon Café, was broadening their horizons to include desserts in their menu, it was a sunny day.

He was walking down the street with his best friend MJ, the co-head chef of the restaurant that he owned, and he remembers this distinctly because the sun was beating down on Meagan’s hat in such a way that it made her hair look golden brown, like the color of the caramel Pete always pumped into his coffee, and he remembered that he wanted to write about it. Something about the warmness of her voice relating to the steam that rose from his coffee. Something about coffee. At 6 in the morning, all Pete could think about was coffee.

They were mindlessly talking about something the way that they always do. Being best friends since culinary school, they knew everything about each other, and they didn’t have to think about things to talk about, it always fell into place so seamlessly. _‘So, you know about my mom’s cousin who still lives in Jamaica?’ ‘Yeah, of course, go on,’ ‘Right, so–’_

And they were walking past Moon Café because they had to pass that horrid place in order to get to the restaurant. And then MJ stopped.

“Uh… Pete?” she asked, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk. There’s a huge window at Moon, one where you can peer in to see the state of the line, to see what new food Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross, the owners that made Pete want to individually pull each one of his hairs out, added to the menu, and so on and so forth. “I think… they added desserts to their… menu? Wait, shit, c’mere, or maybe I’m seeing something.”

Pete pressed his face up to the window in the same manner that MJ was, and they looked like total idiots, leaning their arms against the glass and letting their breath fog up the window, but Pete could see it so clearly.

**“NOW INTRODUCING: CAKES, CUPCAKES, BROWNIES, AND COOKIES!”**

Pete leaned away from the window, and he said in disbelief to her, “Oh, shit. Oh _shit_ , they are.”

MJ turned to him, and she took in a deep breath. “So, we’re fucked, basically?”

Pete nodded. “We’re fucked. Basically.”

* * *

The thing about Pete is that he fucking loves competition. It’s why he was so good at soccer, it’s why he was at the top of his class at culinary school, it’s why he could even sustain his restaurant in the first place, it’s because he knows what he’s good at, and he works at it until it’s better than perfect at it. It’s why Pete could write poetry for days, but he knows nothing about putting it to music, even though Ashley, another one of the chefs, always says he could. _It’s lyrical,_ she tells him all the time. But Pete’s not good at lyrics. He’s great at poems. And he’ll work on his poems, and he won’t work on his lyrics. It’s why Pete’s an amazing cook, but he can’t do… like, _math_ for his life.

So, Pete knows he’s good at keeping his restaurant afloat. And he knows that if Moon Café started introducing deserts, it would be the end of Edgar Allan Potato. Because Travie’s muffins and the scoops of ice cream they serve don’t compare to _cupcakes_ and _cakes_. And Pete isn’t good at baking, not in the way that he’s good at making omelets and different variations of potatoes, or else he would make them himself.

He put out some ads- MJ’s really into the network of chefs in Chicago, Pete mostly stays home and sleeps when he has free time, which is hardly, so he has her get the word out- PETE WENTZ, OWNER OF EDGAR ALLAN POTATO, NEEDS SOMEONE TO DO DESSERTS ASAP. And he even posts something on Craigslist, even though he’s about 100% sure he did it wrong.

But he must have done something right along the way, because Gabe comes in with the best news Pete’s heard all month not even a week later while he’s cooking in the kitchen.

Sitting in his office gets boring, and there’s no way he would feel comfortable lying around in his apartment while he had no idea what was happening at the restaurant- the restaurant was his kid. He and Mikey, like, fuckin’ raised it and brought it to fruition. There was no way he was leaving his 6 year old kid unattended. And so, when he didn’t want to do boring paperwork, and when he didn’t want to sit around in the office and do nothing, he cooked with the rest of the chefs. It wasn’t work- it was fun. They played cool stuff over the speakers, Ashley and MJ always made him laugh (when he wasn’t yelling at Ashley to stop making out with one of the waitresses, aka her girlfriend, in the kitchen near the food).

So, he was there, in the kitchen. He was humming under his breath to whatever Katy Perry song was on the speakers (it was ‘Teenage Dream’, something popular, it wasn’t like he knew her discography back and forth. Well, he _did_ , but that’s not the point), and he was shaking his shoulders as he worked on the scrambled eggs in front of him. He threw the bell peppers in the pan and sprinkled some chili powder on it, and he was very pointedly ignoring Ashley and MJ making fun of him and his dance moves.

Ashley was the other head chef- she had blue bangs and shoulder length hair that she tied up so it wouldn’t get in food, and she hated Katy Perry… like, a lot.

“Can we turn this shit off?” she cries, as she flips a pancake over- she talks away from the food, so that she doesn’t spit in it or anything- that’s kind of the grossest thing in the world to Pete, the thought of someone’s spit in his food. He knows it’s kinda unavoidable but _still_. “I mean, it’s fucking hilarious to see Pete try and dance to it and all, but– CAR. LY. RAE. JEP. SEN.”

Ashley _always_ suggests Carly Rae Jepsen.

“Pay attention to your pancakes,” Pete says, which is a no, and she grumbles under her breath before she starts to pour the pancake batter on the grill. But, just as the second verse is about to start, the music immediately switches over to ‘Call Me Maybe’, and when Pete glances over to where the iPod is set up, Gabe’s standing, with a devilish _‘I know something you don’t’_ grin. “Wentz, you’re _never_ gonna believe what I’m about to tell you.”

Pete turns to MJ, because she usually keeps up with whatever is going on in the world… going on in general…etc. But she just shrugs. So he turns back to Gabe. “What happened?”

“You have to guess,” Gabe says, and he laughs when Pete throws his hands in the air, the **MICHAEL JAMES WAY** on his wrist moves with it, and he shouts, juuuuust on this side of agitated, “I don’t have all fucking day! What the hell is it?!”

The grin plastered on his face never falters- “Motherfuckin’ _Patrick Stump_ is waiting outside, he’s here for the dessert position.”

MJ gasps. Ashley almost spills the pancake batter across the floor. Pete’s jaw drops. And Gabe keeps grinning. “Yup. And he even brought us cupcakes!”

* * *

Pete met Patrick Stump once, back at Patrick’s home cafe. It was when Mikey Way was still around, and they had gone out on this amazing date- a live show, where Pete got a black eye from someone jamming their elbow in his face, and where Mikey fell and got a huge bruise on his face, and okay, that’s not really amazing, but they could laugh about it when they walked out into the chilly air and as Pete dabbed at Mikey’s face with a napkin he spit on so he could wipe off some blood. Pete still has the polaroid picture cause they used to be like that- of Mikey smiling at the camera with the tissue in his hand when they had gotten home. But back in the past, as they were walking around outside, basking in the beautiful evening, they stumbled upon the cutest restaurant ever. Pete would have gotten jealous if they weren’t so far away from their restaurant that there was no competition. Seats outside under a roof. Fairy lights in the windows. Something straight out of an indie movie dream.

“Do you want anything?” Mikey had asked him, bringing Pete’s hand up to his mouth, to press a kiss to his name on Pete’s wrist. Pete shivered- nothing in the world felt like that. Like… well, kind of like an orgasm, without all of the cum and all of the moaning. But it made his body ache for Mikey’s touch, it made him want to drop to his knees. Mikey smiled at him, like he knew exactly what was going through his mind, and Pete rolled his eyes at that, before he shook his head. “I’m okay.”

In reality, he sort of wanted to try it out. And again, it’s that fuckin’ soulmate intuition ‘cause Mikey just gave him a warm smile, and pulled him into the cafe.

Pete’s favorite part about a restaurant or a café was the smell you got when you walked in. The woosh of air, like the kind he would get when he swung the door to his house open, and all of the spices from the kitchen from where his mother was cooking would travel and hit him in the face, like a slap. But a good kind of slap. Not like a ‘Mikey in bed’ kind of slap, but a good slap nonetheless.

And the cafe smelled like fresh bread. Both Mikey and Pete sighed happily at the same time before they looked over at each other and smiled sheepishly at themselves.

There was a bakery section, where all of the cookies and cannolis and cakes and cupcakes and custard were located, so that’s where they gravitated too, and it was there where Pete first laid eyes upon the dessert master. Seriously. Dessert _master_.

“Hi,” Patrick (according to the name tag on his apron) said, “what can I get you?”

He was standing behind the counter, with his arms placed over the glass, and waiting with expectant eyes. Pete wasn’t really paying attention to his face as much, not when he had Mikey next to him, but he remembers his eyes. They were such a beautiful blue. Blue like the ocean, but not the dirty Jones Beach kind of blue, because that wasn’t blue, that was brown. Blue like the ocean from the Jamaican shore. Blue like when you could wade into the water and see your toes. Blue like that.

Mikey looked at Pete, and Pete looked back at Mikey and shrugged, and they both looked over to Patrick. “What do you recommend?” Pete asked. “We’ve never been here.”

Patrick smiled impossibly wider, and said with an air of confidence as he pointed to everything to the left of him, “Well, everything here, mostly because I made them all. How about…”

He pursed his lips as he narrowed his eyes at the two of them, like he was some sort of dessert whisperer, like he could tell based on their attitude and their look what they would like, and then he clapped his hands together as he said, “Yes, duh, of course. Okay, how does a chocolate cupcake with a mousse filling and a slice of carrot cake sound?”

It sounded pretty good. So, Patrick had someone seat them at one of the tables outside, and, as the two of them talked and laughed underneath pink lights, he brought out the cupcake and the slice of cake on two plates, but also someone followed with two glasses of champagne, something that Pete and Mikey didn’t pay for.

“I hope you enjoy,” Patrick said, and when he placed the plates on the table, Pete noticed the deep, black **SHANE MORRIS** etched on his wrist, that almost seemed to glow against the white of his skin. “My um… soulmate, he owns this place,” Patrick said, and he subconsciously rubbed at his name on his a little, “and he said that he noticed you guys, y’know, network of chefs and all of that weird stuff, and he’s a really big fan of Edgar Allan Potato, _we’re_ really big fans of Edgar Allan Potato, we always get the hashbrowns, and– well, -anyways, the champagne is on the house.”

Mikey and Pete glanced at each other, before they graciously took the two glasses. Cause free stuff is free stuff.

“Thanks man,” Pete said, and he smiled warmly at Patrick. “You’re fuckin’ awesome, tell, uh…” he glances down at the name on Patrick’s wrist, “ _Shane_ that we said thanks.”

“Yeah,” Mikey piped up, and Patrick nodded as he gave them one last customer smile.

“Okay. Um. Bye… it was nice meeting you guys, I hope you enjoy the dessert,” he said, before rushing back inside the cafe.

And they did. They _so_ did. Pete thought that Patrick’s dessert whisperer thing was bullshit, but that slice of carrot cake was the best slice of cake he had ever had period. And Mikey’s eyes almost fell out of their sockets when he tasted the cupcake, and by the time that Pete had had a taste of Mikey’s cupcake too, when Mikey fed him a small piece off his fingers, Pete was already convinced that Patrick was some sort of God.

“That kid… that kid is a fuckin’ Casonova,” Pete said, as he took one last sip of his champagne. “If we ever do desserts at Potato, we know who to call.”

“Yeah,” Mikey laughed, as he finished off his own glass, “if we could ever convince him to leave his _soulmate’s_ cafe. And if we ever succumb to adding desserts to the menu in the first place. Way too much sugar for a breakfast restaurant.” “Nothing wakes _me_ up like chocolate cake at 7 in the morning, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Oh, right, duh!”

And Mikey and Pete probably would have gone back there many times. They probably _should_ have. But shortly after, Mikey was out of the picture, and Pete couldn’t bring himself to walk into the cafe with the tables under the roof in the front and the fairy lights in the windows.

* * *

When Pete goes to greet Patrick Stump at the entrance to EAPotato, he looks about the same as he remembers– maybe a little older since Pete hadn’t been to that cafe in years, but roughly the same- same blueish green eyes, same blondish brown hair, same gentle smile on his face.

The only difference is the glaringly obvious black ribbon tied around his wrist– Pete does _not_ remember that at all. He’s instantly curious, that surely can’t be a good sign, maybe that’s why Patrick is here, maybe something happened between him and Shane. It doesn’t matter, though. At least, not now- Pete’s trying to be on his best behavior…. But Pete can’t stop thinking about it, why wouldn’t he pick something a little more subtle, can he really blame Pete for looking, can-

“Hi,” Patrick says, his voice is whiskey smooth and he reaches the hand attached to the wrist that Pete can’t stop looking at, to shake Pete’s. “I’m Patrick Stump? I’m here for the. Uh. Dessert position.”

In the hand that not currently in Pete’s, is a container with a couple of cupcakes. “On the ad, you, um… said to come in whenever. And I would have called, I swear, but I’m, er, kind of all over the place, and I had to switch my data plan, and–”

“It’s fine,” Pete says to him, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the ribbon on Patrick’s wrist and to be professional, “you’re Patrick Stump, I don’t– I mean, it’s cool. It’s—yeah, holy shit, it’s cool. It’s so cool. Do you want to sit? I think we should sit. Do you have a favorite poet?”

His reaction seems a little far-fetched, but this is Patrick Stump. Goddamn _Patrick Stump_ . He almost wants to pinch himself, this is like a dream. No, better, he wants to drag Patrick by the ribbon-clad wrist all the way down to stupid Moon Café and wave his hand around and go ‘LOOK WHO I HAVE!’ while Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross fall over themselves as they weep. _That’s_ what he wants to do.

“Do I have a– oh, yeah. Right. Do you still have the Rupi Kaur section?”

This reply takes Pete by surprise– mostly because only teenage girls and young women really request the Rupi Kaur section. He’s not sure what poet he would associate with Patrick– maybe Pablo Neruda? Or at least Robert Frost.

Sometimes Pete forgets that some people aren’t as into poetry as he is, though. It’s possible for people to not have a favorite poet. It’s still weird though– Rupi Kaur? He likes her stuff enough, he _does_ have a whole section of the restaurant dedicated to her, and her poems, they’re empowering, maybe not for him, but for women, and that’s important to him, inclusion, and all that, but her work is a little... amatetur, is probably the right word.

The whole restaurant is divided up into sections. Edgar Allan Poe, Maya Angelou, Pablo Neruda, Robert Frost, Rupi Kaur, Langston Hughes, Rumi, Walt Whitman, and Pete’s favorite, miscellaneous. So, people get to pick where they want to sit, and in the different sections are poems painted on colorful walls. There’s a large bookcase where they’re standing right now- the entrance. Even the wooden floors are covered in literature– Shakespeare.

“Yeah, we still have the– Gabe, are there any seats in the Rupi Kaur section?” Pete asks Gabe, who gives a quick glance behind his back, and nods. “Yeah, just follow me. You _do_ know who works the Rupi Kaur section, though?”

Patrick gives Pete a worried glance when Pete sucks in a deep breath. “Oh, God. Tyler?”

Tyler is… sort of a horrible waiter. Like, capital H Horrible. There’s a free table that seats 2 right next at the edge of the Rupi Kaur section, so they’ll bleed into the Misc. section a little, but they’re still in _Tyler’s_ section. Tyler’s at a table right now, and Pete can already see the tension in his shoulders.

“Ma’am, are you _sure_ you want ketchup with that? That’s kinda gross,” Pete eavesdrops as they pass Tyler’s table, and when Gabe jabs him in the stomach, he shouts.

“Ow! Why did you– oh… hi, Pete,” Tyler says, immediately giving Pete a faux smile. Pete just sighs and keeps moving- Tyler runs back to get his customers ketchup. “I promise he’s not this bad, he just… isn’t so friendly, but we’re working on it,” Pete tries to say to Patrick, but he doesn’t look so convinced. He merely hums, and clutches his container of cupcakes tighter.

They are seated right next to one of Pete’s favorites by her–

 

**_how is it so easy for you_ **

**_to be kind to people_ ** **he asked**

 

**milk and honey dripped**

**from my lips as i answered**

 

**_cause people have not_ **

**_been kind to me_ **

 

But Patrick looks over to another one, right behind Pete’s shoulder–

 

**i do not want to have you**

**to fill the empty parts of me**

**i want to be full on my own**

 

**i want to be so complete**

**i could light a whole city**

**and then**

**i want to have you**

**cause the two of**

**us combined**

**could set it**

**on fire**

 

“I love this one,” he says to Pete, with his head cocked to the side, like he’s reading it over. “It’s the reason I always sit in this section. I’m not much of a poetry person, but… it’s nice. I like the simplicity of it. Like… there aren’t so many metaphors so it’s all confusing for me, and whatnot. Like… look at that one. I’m already getting a headache.”

He so very conveniently points to one of Pete’s poems– it’s in the miscellaneous section, so he can’t really knock Patrick, but his face instantly turns a little red when he turns his head, and Patrick’s pointing to a poem of Pete’s that spans 1/10 of _a whole wall._ “Oh. Yeah. That’s-- too many words. You’re right.”

The miscellaneous section is Pete’s favorite, because of how much it changes. Because all week, Pete receives submissions from people, and on Sundays, he wipes the whole chalkboard wall down, and writes down his favorite ones. Right now, the poem of the week, Pete’s favorite one from the bunch, happens to be from the main man Tyler himself– there’s no bias, Pete swears. He would rather it not have been Tyler, actually– it already looks bad that he hasn’t fired him yet. But he likes Tyler– he’s funny sometimes, and he’s head over heels for someone else with another name on their wrist, so Pete kinda feels for him. Mikey would have definitely fired him already, but…

Things aren’t awkward between Pete and Patrick, kinda, maybe a little, but the awkwardness goes away because Patrick is very direct and to the point. His cupcakes sit on the table, and he inches the container a little closer to Pete. “So… I’m interested in the dessert position.”

“Yeah,” Pete says, “and I’m like. _Totally_ honored. But… why? Why us? I thought you and Sh–”

“Don’t.” Patrick stops him right in his tracks, with a very straight look on his face. “Don’t bring him up. I’m not working there anymore.”

Pete mentally curses himself in his head. He looks down at the ribbon around Patrick’s wrist again, and he takes a deep breath. “Right. _Right_. So you and—him, you guys are—I mean, you’re not going to make up? Aren’t you guys… y’know, _soulmates_?”

Pete’s a little old school, he’s very of the opinion that soulmates don’t break up, soulmates are _soulmates_ , they don’t come and go, but apparently Patrick isn’t, because he shakes his head quickly. “No, we’re not making up. It’s done.”

That’s....

Kind of not how the concept of ‘soulmates’ work.

 _Soulmates_. Like… when a soul descends to earth and splits in two, with each half inhabiting a separate body and the name of the person with the other half of your soul stains your skin, your wrist, and one will never be fully complete until they find one another. Full definition, not Pete’s.

Pete’s never heard of someone giving up on a soulmate. He’s heard of people not having a soulmate, MJ doesn’t have a name on her wrist, and he knows that in freaky, weird incidents, sometimes the name on wrists can change, but this? Someone just… leaving?

He’s a little speechless. Patrick’s mostly staring at him like he gets this from everyone.

“Listen,” Patrick says, and his voice goes all smooth again, like he’s trying to explain this to a little kid instead of a man in his 30s, “you don’t know what happened, and I’ve… er, somewhat gotten over it, so- he cheated. I caught him in our bed. No one who… who,” he does air-quotes, “ _‘has half of my soul_ ’ would ever do anything like that to me. And it had been happening. For a while. So we’re over. And I have no intentions of going back there. I’m fully committed to this job. If you’ll have me.”

He looks confident enough, he keeps a steady gaze, but Pete can still see a little bit of the hurt in his eyes, he can see the heartbreak. But he looks like he means it, what he’s saying, that he would be fully committed to the job– and Pete knows about 0.2 things about Patrick, but there’s something inside of him, like a little pull, that makes him want to believe him. That he wouldn’t screw Pete over. Even though he knows people and he knows the drug-like effects having a soulmate can have on you, and what being near them does. Which… okay, Patrick getting away from Shane to be away from that makes sense, but people get _lonely_. Pete knows this very well.

“Why not Moon? That’s more of your scene, isn’t it? I mean, this is a restaurant, your home café was… I mean, it was a café, you know?” Pete asks, and Patrick blinks at Pete. Like, a strong blink. One that would say ‘are you kidding me’, but Pete doesn’t keep up with the “drama” in the restaurant world, he’s concerned with Moon and Moon only, and so he really doesn’t know.  

He gives Patrick a blink back. “What happened? Bad memories?” Pete asks, and Patrick crosses his arms. The ribbon moves with it. It’s sooooo distracting. “Apparently Brendon and Ryan have an open relationship. One that extends to my ex-soulmate.”

 _Yikes_. “Yikes,” Pete says, through a wince. “Sorry, I didn’t. Y’know. _Know_.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Patrick says. Pete looks around for Tyler. If things were awkward before, they are a billion times more awkward more. Patrick picks up the menu for lack of something to do, Pete already knows it like the back of his hand, but he opens his too. From the corner of his eye, he can see Tyler running towards them.

“Hi,” Tyler says, almost tripping over his shoes- he has to hold onto the edge of another table, but he thankfully doesn’t fall. “Sorry I was so late, Ashley and Hayley were doing this thing and...uh, nevermind? But– yeah! Okay, you guys ready to order? My name is Tyler!”

Patrick covers a laugh with his hand, and pretends it’s a cough– the ribbon is definitely haunting Pete, because it attracts his eye again.

He can’t understand it at all. He knows why Patrick isn’t with Shane, because Shane cheated, and that’s so shitty, that’s so incredibly shitty… but breaking up with him for good? Covering his soulmate mark? That seems so extreme. He would never think to cover Mikey’s name. If he were really old-fashioned, he would say it was disrespectful, almost. But Pete’s not old-fashioned, he’s just a little rooted in his beliefs. Mikey is his soulmate. Mikey will always be his soulmate.

Then again, Mikey never cheated on Pete. Pete’s been cheated on, back before Mikey, but it never mattered because it was never the real deal. Shane was Patrick’s _real deal._

“I’ll have an order of those house special hashbrowns,” Patrick says, handing Tyler the menu with a smile, “and a cup of coffee.”

Tyler glances over to Pete, who hands his menu in and sighs. “Just a mimosa.”

He scribbles something down in his notepad, before he scurries back to the kitchen, without a goodbye or a ‘thank you’. But not because he catches Josh, one of the mixologists at the bar, and says, in perfect earshot of Pete and Patrick, “Next time, Gabe _better_ not put Pete in my section. I swear, my stomach is acting up, I’m so nervous.” “Ew, Tyler, dude, TMI.”

Pete and Patrick share an exasperated glance.

If Pete were Patrick, he would run straight for the hills.

But instead, he stays for lunch, and they schedule a time for Patrick to come in an audition.

Not that Patrick really has to– Pete moans embarrassingly loud when he bites into one of the cupcakes that Patrick brought with him.

* * *

Edgar Allan Potato closes at 10 PM, and Patrick comes in for his audition at 10:30.

Pete’s mostly hanging around, wiping down tables with Tyler and Hayley, when there’s a knock on the locked door. And usually it’s his job to talk to the people outside and say nicely, but firmly, “Sorry, we’re closed,”, so he wipes his hands on his jeans, and goes to make that trip. He always feels really bad. But not bad enough to let them in. He _likes_ being home at 11. But when he’s about to open the door, his speech already prepared and sitting at the tip of his tongue, Patrick’s at the door. He’s still wearing that ribbon- Pete’s eyes follow it when he waves hello.

“Hi!” Patrick chirps cheerfully, through the locked doors. “You said 10:30, right?”

Pete unlocks the doors, steps aside so he can let Patrick in. “Yeah, 10:30 is good. We cleaned up the kitchen, but I don’t mind if you mess it up.”

“Just the two of us?” Patrick asks, as he follows Pete into the kitchen, although he looks around the restaurant a little– the restaurant when it’s empty is probably Pete’s favorite place to be. The words on the walls seem to come alive when there’s no chatter overlapping them. If he thinks hard enough about it, when he looks down at the tragedies written on the floor, he can hear Mikey’s voice in his ear, reading softly ‘Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona, where we lay our scene’

“Nah,” Pete says, going back to the topic. He blinks once, almost to reset the system– to get that voice out of his head, to unfeel the invisible bony fingers around his waist. Thinking about Mikey here is never helpful– it doesn’t help that he surrounds Pete everywhere he turns. But the thought of repainting the walls makes Pete’s heart clench in such an unnatural way. “A couple of people are still hanging around– they want to… uh, ‘see the magic’.”

Patrick blinks at him, confused. “They want to _what_?”

“See the magic. Like, of you baking.” Pete explains, and immediately, a blush appears on Patrick’s face, as he breaks out into a smile. “Oh!” he laughs, “It’s not—it’s not magic, I swear! It’s not even that good, it—I mean, I learned it from my mom, the baking, it’s nothing special.”

The double doors swing open when Pete pushes his shoulder into it, and a couple of people gathered together in a circle turn around at the sound of the familiar _swoosh_ of the door.

“Patrick, this is… well, mostly everyone,” Pete says, giving Patrick a sheepish look when Patrick gives him another confused glance. Cause there’s about 10 of them who are looking at Patrick like he’s some sort of God. And one of them who looks kinda uninterested– Patrick recognizes him as Tyler from this morning.

“Hi,” a woman with long platinum blonde hair who introduces herself after a moment, when she realizes that no one is really moving. “My name is Hayley! And this is my girlfriend–” she holds up a hand that’s intertwined with the hand of the woman next to her, who has warm brown eyes and deep blue hair “Ashley.”

“Hey,” Patrick says, and Pete doesn’t miss the way that both Ashley and Hayley glance down at the black ribbon when he shakes their hands. “I’m Patrick.”

After everyone else introduces themselves, there’s Sameer and MJ, who are eventually going to have to learn all of Patrick’s tricks and recipes, there’s Josh, who’s the mixologist and who primarily works at the bar, then there’s Joe, who definitely gives Patrick a once-over, there’s Tyler and Gabe who Patrick already met, and finally, he gets introduced to Travie, who _Patrick_ gives a once-over to, he gets started immediately– mostly because it’s 10:30pm on a Monday night, and everyone wants to eat good cupcakes and go home.

Fuck what Patrick said before– Patrick baking is _magic_ . He remains so focused amid the madness. Because Pete’s paying attention to what Patrick’s doing, making sure he doesn’t, like, throw some cocaine into the mix (yes, the cupcakes are that good), and that he doesn’t talk over the food, and that he washes his hands and the whole deal, but everyone else is _loud_ , although Sameer tries to calm everything down, occasionally sending Pete and Patrick sorry looks.

And by the time that the cupcakes (vanilla frosting with a caramel and chocolate drizzle, because vanilla is versatile, but the caramel and chocolate shows that he’s not afraid of trying new and exciting things) are in the oven, Pete’s sure that Patrick’s gonna tell him that he doesn’t want the job anymore. Because Pete’s so sure Patrick overheard Tyler’s conversation about how thrilling the experience of ‘taking 3 dicks at the same time’ was, and he knows that everyone is a little unconventional and wacky. But, he just strolls over to where Pete is, and he asks in a genuinely curious sounding way, or maybe Pete’s just making things up in his head, “So, does every night end like this?”

He slips oven mitts off as he takes a seat next to Pete, and the ribbon gets unwound in the action- the **SHANE MORRIS** on his wrist looks so wrong now. It’s like a stamp of ownership, and Pete’s never thought of it like that until now. The **MICHAEL JAMES WAY** on his wrist itches at the thought. Mikey has his heart forever, he knows that. It just didn’t seem as bad and as batshit crazy as it seems right now. Patrick follows his gaze, and he awkwardly places his hands in his lap after he laughs nervously. If Pete didn’t know anything about Patrick, he does now– he’s full of awkwardness outside of the kitchen. It’s endearing. Not that he… like, thinks of Patrick in those terms.

“Um,” Pete says, trying to even remember what Patrick said, and then he gets it. “Oh… no, not really. Again, man, I’m really sorry that they’re so loud, they’re just excited. You’re sort of a legend, you do know that, right?”

Patrick opens his mouth to disagree, but Pete shakes his head. “No, listen, like—I literally almost cried when Gabe said you were at the door. You’re an amazing baker, you deserve all of the bragging rights in the world.”

The younger of the two, this would be Patrick, laughs and says jokingly, “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were hitting on me.”

It’s a joke, but it makes Pete freeze up a little. He feels like a cheater, almost. Which is a little pathetic, because he’s had sex with other people after Mikey, he hooked up with someone not even last week. But it feels so different now, sitting next to Patrick so close he can smell his cologne, and he doesn’t know why. He blames it on being starstruck. Er… chefstruck?

Either way, Patrick moves past it like he didn’t even say anything, “And you don’t have to apologize, it’s just so different. A good different! Back with… um, Shane, y’know, it was so… like, meticulous. It was all about money, I would just be the kitchen all day and…” he trails off, and he bites on his thumb a little, at his hangnails. “Like, no one would talk to me, cause I was…  Shane’s guy, y’know, I was Shane’s soulmate and I was untouchable. It fucking sucked. I love talking. I love talking to people! And they were so nice, y’know, and they passed me stuff when I asked, and Sameer, the tall one, he said that he didn’t think that my ribbon was effeminate when I asked him what he thought of it, and,” he takes a deep breath, and continues “it just feels really refreshing to be part of something. Even if I’m really confused about the fact that everyone likes to hang out after work with their boss.”

“More like I’m friends with MJ, who’s friends with Sameer, who’s friends with Ashley and Hayley, and so-on. And we don’t _hang out_ …” he tries to say, but then he thinks it over and well… yeah, kinda. “Well, we just get along really well.”

He feels like a proud parent– he looks over to everyone, they’re all talking loudly and laughing with each other, and he remembers that this was the whole point of the restaurant. To bring people together… and to eat some good food.

Patrick hums, like he’s internalizing everything. And just when he opens his mouth to say something, the alarm on the oven goes off, so he gives Pete an apologetic smile before he runs off to check on the cupcakes.

And when Pete has nothing to do besides sit around, he takes out his phone, and his eyes widen when he sees all of the messages on his lockscreen.

 

**_MJ [10:54 PM]: Lol you & Patrick are sitting awfully close_ **

**_MJ [10:54 PM]: He’s single……_ **

**_MJ [10:56 PM]: Not saying that you should do it_ **

**_MJ [10:56 PM]: Just saying that you guys look good together_ **

**_Tyler Joseph[10:56 PM]: hey  eter wanna come back with josh joe travie and i ? we might watch sum donnie ! u can’t pass down mf donnie darko ._ **

**_MJ [10:57 PM]: I feel like a dumbass quadruple texting you_ **

**_MJ [10:57 PM]: Sextuple now_ **

**_MJ [10:57 PM]: Haha_ **

**_MJ [10:57 PM]: Oh my god_ **

**_MJ [10:57 PM]: I’ll stop now_ **

 

He looks up from his phone, and he looks over to MJ, who must feel his watchful gaze on her back, because she turns around, and smirks when Pete over exaggeratedly rolls his eyes.

 

**_Pete [11:04 PM]: Fuck you lol_ **

**_Pete [11:04 PM]: Never_ **

 

And then he replies to Tyler’s text with a loud sigh, as he slides out of his seat, and makes his way over to where MJ is.

 

**_Pete [11:04 PM]: Thanks for the offer but I’m good._ **

 

“You’re deplorable,” he says to her, and she laughs as she brushes some hair out her face. “I’m simply commenting. _Taking note of.”_

“Yeah, for someone who doesn’t give a shit about relationships, you’re very _observant_.”

MJ doesn’t have a name on her wrist, and she isn’t into sex either– she’s the only aroace person Pete knows.

“Don’t give a shit about _romantic_ relationships when they pertain to _me_ . To you, on the other hand…” she trails off, and when she catches the very unamused expression on Pete’s face, she sighs. “What? I know you weren’t alone last Saturday night, she left her underwear in the bathroom and I stepped on it, and there was, y’know, _wetness_ and it was gross, and– oh my god, stop laughing, it’s not funny! It’s gross! Another woman’s underwear, Pete, what if I put it on and–”

“So... you’re saying you’d put on dirty underwear that you don’t recognize?” “ _No_ , that’s not—you’re annoying. _So annoying.”_

He laughs loudly, even harder when MJ crosses her arms over her chest. “Ha-ha. So funny.”

Out of nowhere, Tyler wraps an arm around MJ’s shoulder and he looks at her as he says, “Hey Emj, you tryna watch Donnie Darko?” and then he looks over to Pete, who’s still laughing, and he asks, “Why is Pete doing that weird croak laugh, what’s so funny?”

“Nah, I’m good,” she says, and then she looks to Pete, who’s still grinning, just happy that they’re not talking about him _dating_ Patrick anymore, “and nothing, it was something stupid.”

“I don’t like being out of the loop,” Tyler says sadly, but MJ just holds the hand attached to the arm around her shoulder, and she guides Tyler to where Patrick is handing out cupcakes. “I’ll explain after cupcakes,” she says to him, and she looks over her shoulder to Pete and mouths _‘we’re talking about this later’_

To no one’s surprise, the cupcakes are a _huge_ success. Patrick looks so overwhelmed after he’s showered with compliment after compliment, _‘Patrick, this is better than an orgasm’ ‘Hayley, what the fuck?! I know these are good but—what?!’ ‘I’ve changed my religion to Patrick-anity.’ ‘This is unreal’_ , and he legitimately tears up when Pete says, with crumbs on the side of his face, that he got the job.

“Oh my God, thank you!” Patrick practically _shrieks_ , and he flings his arms around Pete’s neck and hugs him. It’s over in a second, but the smell of Patrick, the cologne and the vanilla from the cupcake, embeds itself in Pete’s nose, and Pete almost pulls him back, pulls him closer, when Patrick pulls away to respond to one of the many compliments.

This isn’t good.

This is kind of horrible.

He looks over to Meagan, who doesn’t say anything to him, just quirks her eyebrow as she takes a sip of water, a _‘MJ knows best’_ move if Pete had ever seen one.

He can feel Patrick all around, can still feel the weight against his chest, the brush of his hair on his chin, the way that his glasses dug into his skin. Mikey’s handwriting, the words from _their_ poetry books surround them, but Patrick is the only thing that floods in Pete’s head, it’s sugary sweet syrup glossing over and seeping into the cracks in Pete’s brain where memories of Mikey should be.

When he goes home, he ignores MJ’s calls for him in the kitchen, and he sits in his room, in the dark, and he scribbles into his journal, his eyes straining to see the lines on the page.

 

**purple teeth. purple liquid courage.**

**i deserve a purple heart.**

**i just wanna swim inside your salty eyelids just like a shark.**

 

**i say we let the love loose like dogs.**

**baby full of stitches. full of glitches.**

**they’re just too dull to cut us.**

**i’ve got sunshine in my bones.**

**how do i get it out to them?**

**i want a police escort into heaven**

**and come back again.**

 

**i wanna be a conduit for your love**

**i just wanna breathe your CO2 in**

 

And the worst part of it all, is that Pete doesn’t know who he’s talking to. A woman with long silky hair who’s underwear is sitting in the trashcan, or bony hipbones and morning breath and sharp teeth that hasn’t grazed his skin in years, or the smell of vanilla on a man who’s already been marked and claimed by someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOLLLLL so something that i like to do sometimes is like... implement parts of my different fics into each other? so kudos to you if you know where 'edgar allan potato' is from LOL. i DID say i was gonna write it!!! (im totally making the 'josh smiling at you is $2' a thing btw. like, there's a secret menu at EAPotato, and the only thing on it is: Josh's Sunshine Smile: $2 (it's smile from josh, that's all))
> 
> my tumblr: valleygirlsameer


	2. Chapter 2

“So, do you think you’ll make it to Slam?” Sameer asks, with his mouth covered in cookie crumbs.

They’re hanging out in Maya Angelou’s section on their break– usually it’s nice to get out of the restaurant and try new places in the parts of Chicago Patrick isn’t as familiar with, but it’s raining cats and dogs, and Sameer made grilled cheese sandwiches. So basically, Patrick’s sold.

Although it’s only been 3 weeks since Patrick started working at EAPotato, he’s gotten pretty close to everyone. Like, Sameer tells him about his sister who’s studying to be a doctor in the Caribbean while Patrick teaches him how to get the perfect caramel texture for creme brulee (and, even though Sameer always gets the measurements right, there’s always something… missing. Literally, a spark of Patrick’s magic. Pete’s still a little convinced that Patrick’s putting coke in the batter, but Patrick assured him that, no, he isn’t smuggling cocaine into his desserts)

And Ashley and Hayley, oddly enough, live in the same apartment complex that Patrick’s staying in, so they’ll sometimes carpool to work together. And Hayley always ruffles his hair when she passes him in the kitchen to give a kiss to Ashley (when Pete’s not there of course– he hates when they make out in the kitchen).

Tyler, somehow, got ahold of Patrick’s number, and now subjects him to countless 4 am texts about God and ‘ **hey can u maybe pick up some marshmallows for me ?** ’. And even though the texts are super annoying, they’re worth the sparkle in his eyes when Patrick hands him a bag of marshmallows, even though Gabe has to pick up the ones Tyler drops as he eats them during his shift.

And of course, there’s Pete and Patrick. Pete, who tries his best to stay away from Patrick, because those feelings, those horrible feelings of want, aren’t going away, and he doesn’t even want to think about moving on and dating someone else (even if he’s sleeping with other people), and Patrick, who just mostly wants to impress Pete so that he can keep this job. And not at all to receive some of the validation he’s been so desperately in need of… not at all.

Still, they find themselves getting along. Like, they share exasperated glances across the kitchen when someone does something stupid, and they sometimes will hang around and clean after hours and share glasses of cokes, and _sometimes_ , Pete finds himself staring directly at the tightly wrapped ribbon around Patrick’s wrist, wanting so bad to find his name underneath the black velvet instead of the name of Patrick’s real soulmate.

Shane. Fuckin’ _Shane_. Pete doesn’t know what the hell Shane’s problem was. Not even for cheating on Patrick, but for cheating on Patrick with _Brendon Urie_ and _Ryan Ross_. He shudders just at the thought, what a horribly annoying pair of people to have a _threesome_ with.

“I dunno,” Patrick says to Sameer, as he breaks apart his own grilled cheese sandwich. “I’m not really into poetry, but I think I work that night anyway. The girls have been raving about it, like, all week. That, and some random concert, I dunno… they talk _a lot._ ”

“Raving about what?” Tyler asks, coming up entirely out of the blue. He pulls a chair from a thankfully empty table, and invites himself to sit where Sameer and Patrick are. The chair is backwards, and he straddles it as he pops another one of the marshmallows in his mouth.

“Slam. Are you gonna read anything?” Patrick asks, and Tyler nods as he chews. “Yeah, I got stuff. Slam is _awesome_ , you have to read something too! We have to know all your inner demons, that’s how we bond.”

He shoves another marshmallow in his mouth before he finishes the first one, and then another one. Patrick blinks at him in awe, before he turns to Sameer who just shrugs and eats another one of Patrick’s cookies.

“I don't really… er, write?” Patrick confesses, and when Tyler’s eyebrows furrow, he finds himself explaining further. “It's just, it's just not my _thing._ I was always the kid that sucked at English.”

“What, were you a Math geek?” Sameer asks, and Tyler shakes his head, raises a finger to signal for them to wait, and then he swallows his marshmallow(s). “He was totally a band kid. I have a sixth sense.”

Patrick nods. “Band kid. Drum major. How’d you figure?”

“I just told you, I have a sixth sense.”

“Right…” Patrick says, as he looks over Tyler’s shoulder to a table of teenagers who seem to be motioning to the world’s worst waiter. “Hey, I think those girls at your table are calling you?”

Tyler turns around to glance at them, and then he turns back around to sigh. “Yeah, that's me. Prepare something for Slam, band nerd!”

And with that, he grabs his bag of marshmallows and walks away.

“You don't have to do anything, it's mostly just Tyler, Ash, and Hayley who actually read stuff,” Sameer says, and then he adds, “oh, and Pete.”

“Pete?” Patrick asks, cocking his head to the side a little. “He writes? Actually, wait… that makes sense, I’m so stupid…”

“Nah, just a little slow,” Sameer waves him off, laughing when Patrick rolls his eyes. Although, he’s a little thankful that Sameer wouldn’t treat that remark the way Shane would, and agree with him. _Yeah_ , he would say, _you fucking are._

“Just prepare yourself, though, Pete’s poems are like… sad as all hell. It makes everyone really uncomfortable cause the air gets all tense and then someone has to make a joke to lighten the mood, or… well, Tyler has to be Tyler. It sounds like a train wreck and it kinda always is, but it's just like a thing that you always want to be there for. Like annual family reunions. Like it's sad cause your Grandma keeps mentioning how this might be her last one, but then your cousin does something crazy like light himself on fire accidentally, or falls into a pool fully clothed… and then you look forward to next year.”

“You got a story?” Patrick asks with a laugh, and Sameer laughs too. “ _Plenty_.”

They finish up their lunch within the next hour, and get ready to go back into the kitchen. But in that hour, as the conversation drifted to the Gadhia Family Reunions, Patrick was half-watching Pete work with colored chalk on the miscellaneous wall. Washing off last week’s poems and starting anew.

The last poem he writes before he makes his way back into the office is signed with his name, and is underneath the chalky yellow announcement that reads: _‘MONTHLY POETRY SLAM TAKES PLACE IN:_ _2_ _DAYS!!!’_

 

**May our futures never fade**

**Sometimes I smile just to put some perspective**

**on the pain**

**I’m not here to restore any faith**

**And I make expensive mistakes**

**But**

**I only talk from the heart no matter what I say**

**The right line at the wrong time**

**But**

**I’m so addicted to the nighttime**

**Not the acid rain of the limelight**

**You gotta lose everything but yourself**

**And maybe I’ve still got time to become a better version of myself**

 

**Always thought I’d live and die in the town I was born and raised in**

**But my dreams did their damage and couldn't be kept caged in**

**My reaper is not grim**

**Cause he knows I never sleep, never wait, and that I fear only him**

 

And in the midst of this, as Patrick watches Pete write with tense shoulders and shaky hands, he wonders where Mikey is.

* * *

Slam is always Pete’s favorite day of the month, restaurant-wise. They close up the restaurant for the day, and open again late in the evening, so he has all day to just hang out*.

*Walk MJ’s dog, an adorable corgi named Steve.

And then when he actually gets to the restaurant, the place is already pretty much set– the tables and seats that are always on the stage in the Miscellaneous section are moved down so that the stage is clear, the microphone is set up, etc. All that’s really left is getting the finger food and the drinks ready. Josh is always behind the bar, making drinks (everyone needs one after Pete performs—including Pete), and Travie’s in the back baking muffins while Ashley’s making mini versions of sandwiches. And sometimes Pete will buy a couple of tubes of pre-made cookie dough, and throw some cookies into the oven. It’s not really an event where people sit down and eat- they just sip coffee and share poems. That’s it.

This time is a little different though- because Patrick’s making desserts for the event for the first time. Brownies, _actual_ cookies, macaroons, and of course, cupcakes.

And since Pete has no self-control when it comes to desserts (it’s _desserts_ ), he makes his way into the kitchen as soon as he gets to the restaurant to grab a cupcake or something. Luckily, Patrick’s already sharing out some of them– Ashley passes Pete on her way out with two sprinkle covered cupcakes in hand, and Tyler follows her with one that has a marshmallow on it (Pete makes a mental note to tell Tyler to stop eating while he works)

“Pete!” Patrick calls out, waving from where the ovens are. “Be sure to take a cupcake!”

“I will!” Pete yells back, heading straight for them. MJ’s there too, sitting in front of the platter, and she greets Pete with a hug. “Hey,” she says, as she pulls away, “how was your one day off for the month?”

“I have more than one day off… I just, y’know… like to hang around,” he says, through a wince. MJ’s right– Pete really never gives himself a break. Unless he’s out on a date that always ends in some pathetic sex. The whole _‘I’m never going to date anyone ever again’_ thing.

“Trying to make sure the place doesn’t burn down, getting free cupcakes,” he supplies instead, and he grabs one off the platter, pointing to it to solidify his point. MJ just sighs and goes along with it. “Right,” she says slowly, sarcastically. “And Patrick’s cupcakes don’t taste perfect.”

“Too many compliments make me not believe them,” Patrick sing-songs from the other side of the kitchen, and MJ looks past Pete’s shoulder and says, “I will make you believe it, even if it kills me!”

Patrick laughs. Pete smiles at the sound of it before he can internally tell himself not to.

“Thanks,” Patrick says, and he grabs a cupcake himself. “You guys can have the rest, I made a couple dozen, they’re already outside. And the brownies too. Cookies out in 20– that’s not too late right?”

Pete shakes his head, and he licks a little bit of excess frosting off the side of his finger. Patrick’s eyes linger a little, not that Pete really notices. “Nah, we don’t start until later anyways. But thanks.”

“Yeah,” Patrick waves him off, “it’s fine, kinda my job… so anyways, um, is Mikey coming out tonight? I haven’t seen him… like, since before I started working, actually! Do you guys own another place, or…?”

Immediately, Pete has this sinking feeling in his stomach, one that feels like going down a roller-coaster. He just stares at Patrick, with his mouth half open. The cupcake in his hands feels like warm butter, like it’s going to slip from his hands any second now, and he would have dropped it had it not been for MJ reaching for it, almost like she could read his mind. It’s moments like these that Pete appreciates his friendship with MJ the most- when he can’t even fucking utter a sentence, and she swoops in like the saving grace she is.

“Um,” MJ begins to say, laughing nervously as she does it. “Probably not.”

She’s looking directly at Pete, so she doesn’t notice the worried glance that Patrick sends her. “Oh, I was… just wondering, cause I know that… that, um…?”

Pete knows what Patrick’s going to say- that he knows that Mikey owned the restaurant too, because he _met_ him. And it’s not like Pete ever said anything on any of the nights that they stayed back to talk. There’s no memorial in the restaurant, no dedication.

“Yeah,” Pete says, and his laugh comes out even worse than MJ’s. The one sugary bite of cupcake in his stomach feels like a rock, there’s no more appetite left. He suddenly aches for one of the cigarettes Mikey used to smoke, just to feel him again. To close his eyes, and pretend for a second that Mikey was by his side.

“It’s fine, yeah. Mikey’s not…” he trails off with a mumble, and he and MJ keep this super intense gaze locked. Like, if he looks away, everything he’s been keeping bottled inside, the hurt that seeps into his poetry, gets poured out along with alcohol into glasses, is exhaled with puffs of cigarette smoke only to get absorbed back in through his skin, will burst out of him in the form of tears that he’s too ashamed to shed in front of Patrick. A stranger. The one person who somehow makes this 10 times worse for him.

“Okay, sorry I asked…” Patrick quickly says, looking between the both of them frantically, “I’m gonna go check if Sameer needs anything! Okay, I’ll just… go, I’ll-”

And before Pete can tell him anything else, Patrick all but runs out of the kitchen.

* * *

“He’s dead, bro,” Tyler says, as Patrick brings his head down to his cupped hands. “The fuck? You didn’t know? You and Pete hang out all of the time.”

Although he just dropped his head in his hands, he quickly looks back up, and hisses, “No, I didn’t know! Why didn’t _anyone_ tell me, like, hey, don’t bring up Mikey, he’s dead! _Anyone_! I thought he was alive this whole time.”

Josh, the mixologist that Tyler always hangs around, sighs. “No one brings him up to begin with. It’s like Fight Club. First rule of Fight Club, you do not talk about Fight Club.”

“But at least the rules are explained in Fight Club! No one explained anything to me, I see– I see Ashley and Hayley every single day, no one thought it would be smart to–”

“Patrick,” Josh sighs again. He’s a very patient person– in the back of his mind, Patrick notes that you’d probably have to be if you’re friends with Tyler. “It doesn’t matter now. No one told you anything because everyone forgot, Pete avoids talking about him like the plague. I didn’t even know that Mikey was, like, a person, until Pete himself told me about it when he was drunk one day, and that was only because  _I_ brought up the fact that I thought my soulmate died. No one has a personal vendetta against you.”

“Yeah,” Tyler nods, along, as he sips on his fruity drink loudly, “it’s not like a _hazing_ thing. How did I find out about Mikey… um....”

“I told you the night I found out. We were high, we started making out…?” Josh supplies for him, and Tyler nods, “Oh, yeah! Duh!”

He leans in a little closer to Josh and whispers to him. “I would never forget that night.”

“Oh my God, I feel like I’m going crazy, I need to get out of here,” Patrick mumbles, and he gets up out of his seat to go sulk and complain somewhere else, but Tyler stops him by grabbing his arm, and dragging him back down into the bar seat. “Sit down! Patrick, this is the _real_ world, we don’t run away from our problems… well, okay, no, _we do,_ but our friends give us shit for it. You’re gonna listen to Slam, you’re gonna accept that what happened sucked, and you and Pete are gonna move on from it. That’s it. He probably already forgot that it even happened, Mikey died, like, 3 years ago!”

“That’s his soulmate, Tyler!” Patrick stresses, going back to anxiously running his hands through his hair, pulling on it enough for there to be a sharp pain in his scalp. “I still feel like shit every single time I remember my soulmate and _he_ was the one who cheated on me. I can’t imagine if… y’know… the person I loved _died_. Pete looked at me like… I just kicked the shit out of a dog right in front of him. No, I kicked the shit out of _his_ dog right in front of him. Like, he just stared at me in awe, like he couldn’t believe I said that, I feel horrible, he probably hates me. Like, what a great fuckin’ first impression.”

“Not really a first impression, since you already kinda know him…” Tyler trails off, speaking under his breath, and when Patrick looks over and gives him an exasperated glance, Tyler shrugs. “Oops.”

He buries his head in his hands again. Maybe this, leaving Shane was a bad idea. _This is what happens when you leave your soulmate_ , he thinks. _You make a fucking fool of yourself. Shane was right, all you do is ruin everything._

“Patrick,” Josh sighs _again_ , pulling Patrick out of his momentary mood. “Just stop. It’s fine. Pete doesn’t hate you, you didn’t know, it’s not like you knew about it and brought it up to be a dick. Here, let me make you a drink. What do you like?”

“Whiskey,” he says miserably. Totally miserably. He feels like such an ass, no matter what Josh and Tyler say, especially since his mind has started to wander to Shane. “Just… _whiskey_. I’m trying to drink away all of my sorrows.”

Tyler pats him on the back. “It’s alright, Patrick, we all do that. Granted, it’s sorta called alcoholism. Here, have a marshmallow, it’ll make you feel better.”

Josh sighs once more as he prepares Patrick’s drink. Tyler drops a marshmallow into it. Patrick takes this to mean the end of _that_ conversation.

* * *

As it turns out, Sameer was totally and completely right about Slam- it's a total train wreck. And it’s only been 25 minutes.

First off, everyone who’s over 21 is a _little_ tipsy. Patrick included. Definitely Pete included. And being tipsy just makes everything a little more enjoyable if you’re just not in the mood to do anything. And it also makes it easier to get through the most emotional poems ever.

Like, Patrick would have definitely started crying at Hayley’s poem about her father. But now, everything just seems smoother, blurred over. Like, he would be beating himself up about the Pete situation, but now it doesn't seem so bad anymore. When he looks over to Pete, Pete gives him a smile back, and because of the alcohol in his system, he doesn't register the fact that it’s more like a wince.

“ **Perhaps hopeless isn’t a place** ,” Ashley recites on the stage, with hearts in her eyes as she looks at Hayley, “ **Nothing but a state of mind. But I hope hopeless changes over time**.”

There’s a salty, sweet taste in Patrick’s mouth as he hears those words. He wishes he were back in love, even though he was so ignorant back then. Ignorance was such beautiful bliss. It doesn’t bring tears to his eyes, because he’s done crying about Shane, and, y’know, the whole being tipsy thing, but it makes his chest constrict. He can feel a pressure on his hipbones, an ache in his back, the lingering touch of a hand against his cheek. A loving stroke after a harsh blow.

He winces, and brings his own hand to his face, and he swears he can still feel the sting.

After Ashley comes off the stage, walks over to Hayley, and cups her face with her hands as they kiss, the ringing in his ears gets louder. What he would fucking do to be embraced like that.

“I think I’m gonna go outside for a breather or something,” Patrick says, pressing his hand on Sameer’s shoulder, and Hayley pouts at him. “Don’t go Patrick!” she says, a little loudly, but thankfully the next person who’s up to read is still fixing the microphone, but Patrick’s already pushing his chair back into the table, shaking his head, mouthing ‘It’s too hot in here, I’ll be back in 20 minutes, I promise’ before he beelines for the exit.

The door closes loudly behind him, and he lets out this huge breath as he tries to remind himself of why he left Shane, why he wasn’t making the stupidest fucking decision in his life. _He was abusive_ , he reminds himself, as he presses his back against the wall. _He would tell you, you wanted things that you didn’t even want, he made you feel guilty for everything_ , _he doesn’t deserve you, you deserve better_ , his voice rings in his mind, but it doesn’t seem rational. **_You’re making him out to be worse than he was, you know he had his problems, you’re supposed to help him._ **

He doesn’t even notice that he’s slid down the wall and he’s sitting on his ass on the streets of fuckin’ Chicago, people passing him and glaring because he’s blocking the way, because he’s playing tug of war with his own thoughts.

 _He cheated on you_ , is what the metaphoric angel on Patrick’s shoulder would say. **_It’s because you were a horrible soulmate_ ** , the devil says, although it’s in the form of a dark cloud. **_You didn’t even put out for him half of the time_ ** . _Because I didn’t want to, I’m not fucking obligated to have sex with someone who doesn’t listen to my limits and ignores me when_ \- **_But I bet  Brendon and Ryan did whatever he wanted. You can’t even provide for your soul-mate. Fucking pathetic._ **

He has half a mind to take the next bus across the city and beg for forgiveness. Do exactly what Shane said he would do, standing in the door-frame of their bedroom with a smirk as Patrick was screaming and crying at him as he threw clothes haphazardly into garbage bags. Like he wasn’t even concerned about Patrick leaving, because he knew Patrick would come crawling back. _Was he right?_

He reaches to untie the ribbon around his wrist, because the name itches so bad, it’s Shane taunting him and he’s not even _there_ , but he’s stopped in his tracks when he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder, and MJ’s looking down at him, concern written all over her face.

“Are you alright?” she asks softly, her eyes on Patrick’s wrist- where the skin is red from Patrick scratching at it. His face flushes the same color, and he feels so embarrassed. He knows that Tyler is kinda crazy, but he doesn’t want MJ to think he’s a maniac or something. “Yeah, I’m- yeah. Thinking. I’m okay.”

He’s so not okay. But this is the last thing he needs right now.

“Here, do you wanna- it’s okay, the air in there is so tense. I feel like people should get a shirt after their first EAPotato slam… like, ‘I’, and in italics, ‘Barely’, ‘Survived Edgar Allan Potato’s Poetry Slam And All I Got Was This Stupid T-Shirt’” she says, laughing a little at her own joke as she takes a seat next to Patrick on, again, the crowded streets. “I know we don’t really know each other, but if you want to talk… I’m here, alright? We can go walk and try to find a bench.”

She pauses, and then she says, light-heartedly, “Or we can stay here, I don’t mind. I think I’m sitting on a cigarette stub, though.”

“You don’t mind?” Patrick asks, “I mean, you would- I mean, you shouldn’t feel obligated, I’m being stupid, it’s-”

“Patrick,” she says firmly, but grounding, like sheets tucked in too tight, but are warm and snug, “I know I’m not obligated, but I want to.”

She looks so sincere, her warm brown eyes are so comforting, and Patrick now realizes why Pete and MJ are so close- because MJ is truly a saint. She smiles at him as he nods, and she gets up first, pushing off the dirty ground and brushing off dirt from her dress, before she holds a hand out for him and gets him on his feet.

“I really love Slam,” MJ begins to say, as they round the corner of the block. He’s not sure where they’re going, but he doesn’t ask, he just focuses on her words so that he doesn’t have to listen to whatever’s in his head. “I really love Slam, but it’s so… _emo_. That’s the only word I can use. Like, it’s fun for everyone who’s into it, y’know, like a circle jerk. But instead of masturbating to porn all together, everyone just gets off to being sad and crying together. It’s kinda therapeutic for P--- _some people_ , so I don’t knock it but… I can understand it being a lot to handle.”

He laughs a little at her analogy, and he shakes his head as he says, “Yeah, I know. I think just- y’know. All of the love poems did me in more than anything. I’m kinda tipsy, so everything else kinda flew over my head, but...”

“Wait, you are?” she asks, turning to glance at him, to take in his expression, and Patrick shrugs. “Nothing I can’t handle. It’s like, when everything in your head is all blurry, and everything is happy, and then something triggers your brain, and you’re like _‘Oh shit’_ , and now I’m a mess.”

“Oh, I get that…” she says, frowning a little like she’s remembering something herself. “Whenever I drink Shirley Temples, I just go back to this really specific moment, it sucks. And Shirley Temples are really good too.”

“Yeah,” he says, and he laughs again a little, although it’s more like a chuckle, as he says, “they kinda are. It’s alright, root beer is way better.”

MJ’s eyes widen, and she exclaims loudly with a huge smile on her face, “Patrick, yes! Oh my God, Pete _hates_ it, I just want to shake his shoulders, like, no, root beer is _good_.”

 _Pete_. God, Patrick still feels shitty about what happened with Pete too. And MJ, she was there too.

“Wait,” Patrick says before he can stop himself, switching the gears entirely, “Pete doesn’t mind you- I mean, Pete doesn’t need you? After I fuckin’, you know, reminded him that his soul-mate is dead, and all…”

She raises her eyebrows, surprised, for a moment, not expecting Patrick to know the source of Pete going dead fucking silent in the kitchen, but she quickly releases the tension in her body, and she shakes her head as she says, “Pete’s a grown up. He said he wanted to be left alone, and I trust him enough to tell me if he was only saying that and didn’t actually mean it. He’s fine, he’s just- y’know. A little shaken up.”

She continues to talk about Pete as they move through street traffic. “We’ve been friends since… like, forever. And most of my friendships that have lasted half as long as our’s have fizzled out, but we sorta just… get along super well, like we just understand each other? So, you know your best friend well enough to know if they’re lying to you when you’ve been around them for 15 years, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, even though he doesn't. His only real friend after the break-up had been Andy, and even then, he and Andy are still working through some stuff ever since Patrick had been spending less time with him, and more time around Shane and his friends. This idea of real and genuine friendship is so foreign, and he misses it _so_ much.

“I think all Pete really needs right now is the Slam, which- I mean, perfect, y’know? Plus, I feel like I totally suck at advice,” MJ sighs, but Patrick is quick to disagree- “No, you really don’t. This is… nice. Way better than sitting on the ground and contemplating getting on the next bus across city, that’s for sure.”

She shifts her gaze, so that she’s looking at him seriously. “Oh God, no, don’t. You deserve a break, find out who you are without him.”

But that’s the worst part about this. Patrick doesn’t know who he is without Shane, and he’s afraid that he’ll never know. That Shane will always be part of him, and that no matter what he does, Shane’s name will always be ingrained in him.

He doesn’t reply to that- his shoulders just slump forward, and he nods, trying to hide the misery in it.

They walk in silence for a while, and it’s a little awkward, yes, but it’s nice to roam around with nowhere to go, to focus on things like bright lights and street signs. MJ breaks their silence a couple of minutes later, once they have walked a couple of long, long blocks, “Do you want to head back?”

He nods, spinning on his heel when MJ does, to turn back. “Yeah, sure. I promised Tyler I would help him clean up, and I already… kinda missed his poem, I’m sure.”

“Aw, Tyler,” she coos, “I love him, even though he’s a little crazy. Has he hit on you yet?”

Patrick nods. “Yeah, kinda, but then I kinda spilled everything to him one night after, uh, he texted me at 3 a.m, a screenshot of Eminem’s _‘3 a.m’_ , and then he sorta stopped. But I thought he and Josh…? I mean, I know that they’re not soulmates, but…”

“Tyler and Josh are kinda like Rachel and Ross. So on and off,” she begins to explain, before she laughs to herself. “I wish the world was like that. Without all of the soulmate bullshit. Where people didn’t feel so confined to one person, where people wouldn’t feel so weird and broken if they didn’t have a name on their wrist.”

Patrick hums in agreement. “Yeah, I know… I mean, I’ve heard of people not having names on their wrists, but I’ve never seen it before, so I can only imagine, like… how much that would suck, growing up where this thing is on everyone else… not that the name always leads to good, but… I mean, not having a soulmate, it- it just seems so unnatural, and what if it’s really not, what if you don’t need a soulmate to survive, you know, and then people without soulmate marks, just — yeah, I agree with what you’re saying, I feel like everything I just said was a huge jumble of garbage.”

MJ gives him an odd look, smiling at him weirdly, like she’s hiding something, as she says, “Wait… you’ve never met anyone without a mark? Are you _sure_?”

He gives her an odd look back. “Um… yeah, I think I- wait, do _you_?”

He’s _extremely_ shocked when Meagan rolls the sleeves of her dress up, to reveal bare wrists to Patrick, bare wrists minus little heart tattoos on the side of each. “Oh _shit_ ,” he says, his eyes widening as MJ laughs, “Wow, I’m so fucking blind, I had no idea.”

“Not blind, but I’m surprised you didn’t know. I mean, I don’t really try to hide it, but… it is weird. Like, sometimes I’ll be on line for, I dunno, groceries, and the cashier will see my wrist, and scream at me for covering and tattooing over my soulmate’s name, as if it wouldn’t dissolve the second it healed, just because they can’t accept the fact that some people don’t have marks, and that they’re not… I don’t know, crying and driving themselves up the wall because they don’t have the desire to date anyone, or, god-forbid, fuck them.”

And even though Patrick has a million, billion, kajillion questions in the back of mind, he nods along with what she’s saying, listening intently as MJ continues to speak– she’s not ranting, she’s just… Well, yeah, ranting, but it’s calm, like she’s explaining it to him.

“It took a lot of years for me to understand that I didn’t need a soulmate to get through my life, and it took… _a lot_ of years to explain that fact to my parents, who sorta resented me for it, because they thought that I was broken, that I was unlovable just because I wouldn’t have a romantic partner, they thought that I didn’t have the capability to love, but I do. I do, I love so much, but instead of… I don’t know, showing it in romantic ways, I show it platonically. I have so many friends that I love, I love Pete so much, but I would never wanna… oh ew, _be_ with him, not because he’s repulsive or disgusting, but because that’s just… not in my nature? And I love the city, and I love my life, and my job, and I am so full of love, but… not like that. And also… sex grosses me out. If that makes sense?”

Patrick nods. That makes sense. It just… he could never see that kind of life for himself. Even though that’s the way it’s going to be now, because he’ll probably* never fall in love again. Doesn’t _trust_ anyone else to fall in love again.

*He’s heard of people getting new soulmates via a name change on their wrist, when they connect with and fall in love with someone else**

** He’s never met anyone like that***, and those cases are rare as hell

*** He also had never met anyone who didn’t have a name on their wrist, and yet, MJ was right in front of him.

“You’re definitely… not missing much,” Patrick says, with a laugh in his voice, trying to steer far, far away from thoughts like **‘NEVER FALLING IN LOVE AGAIN’** and **‘WILL NEVER ACTUALLY EXPERIENCE LOVE BECAUSE WHAT YOU WENT THROUGH WASN’T THAT’**

“Yeah, I hear Tyler’s stories, and-” “Oh my God, Tyler’s _stories_.”

The rest of the journey to the restaurant is easy- they talk about Tyler’s different adventures (there are a lot of them, Tyler talks a lot), and a little bit about the restaurant, since Patrick’s still sorta new. Like the fact that Pete owns the restaurant and could be a normal boss and show up once in a blue moon,  but he refuses to get an actual manager and do that because that restaurant is his entire life and he doesn’t want to be away from it. And the fact that, yes, Brendon Urie and Pete are sworn enemies and that Pete would rather eat shit than step foot into Moon Cafe willingly. This is reassuring to Patrick, because he too would rather eat shit than talk to Brendon Urie. Or look at him. Or actually just be in the general vicinity of him.

And Patrick was fairly certain that by the time that they got back to the restaurant, Slam would be over. But because they have just... _impeccable_ timing, they make it back for the last speaker- Pete. Patrick slips into his seat, with Sameer and them, and MJ goes back to the bar with Josh.

If Pete were drunk (yeah, Pete’s drunk), Patrick certainly didn’t get that from the way that he speaks- he thanks everyone for coming out, says he’s going to make it short, and then he closes his eyes, lets his fists uncurl and lets the tension out of his body, and he begins, a faint smile on his face, **“Happiness is the sand in the sea / It’s just a percentage of a percentage inside of a body of water / Life is just a crocodile with a ticking clock / Inside of it chasing captain hook / It’s just I haven’t figured out this graceful aging thing so well yet / My heart is clumsy / I just wanna dip my toe into death to see if it's a warm bath / Anytime anything breaks me open I just spit out a fortune”**

Patrick closes his eyes too, lets himself feel Pete’s words. And he tries to not think about how, er, sexy Pete’s voice is. Because that’s totally a thing that’s happening right now.

 **“Curiosity killed the cat,”** he opens his eyes for this, and laughs out his last line. **“But what the fuck did loyalty ever get the dog.”**

Next to him, Sameer sighs. “This is so fucking depressing.”

Yeah, Patrick can agree.

* * *

“I can’t believe you missed my poem,” Tyler complains to Patrick. “It was actually good this time! Well, no, scratch that, my poems are always good, but it was better than usual. You suck.”

He’s helping Tyler wipe down tables- he’s getting a ride from Ash and Hayley, and they’re cleaning up too, so he just grabbed a rag and got to work. The crowd is gone, and they’re playing something soft to keep them company, since everyone is tired and tipsy and wants to collapse into bed. Or maybe that’s just Patrick.

 _'Your name is a triangle… your heart is a square… I love to see you… way over there…’_ echoes along the walls. Hayley and Ashley harmonize with each other. Pete, sitting in the corner with 3 cupcakes on a plate, just reads poems off the walls with an indifferent look on his face.

Patrick looks up to Tyler, and he opens his mouth to apologize, but before he can do that, Tyler sighs. “Ah, forget it, you look sad, you totally don’t suck. But you have to promise to hear my poem next time. Here, I’ll text you the one from tonight, but don’t do it again.”

That’s the best Patrick’s gonna get out of Tyler, and he knows it, so he just smiles and pats Tyler on the back. “Good talk. I promise I’ll be there next time. I was just a little… I don’t know. Overwhelmed.”

“Hmm… can’t really relate, but I get you.”

His eyes fall back to Pete, sitting alone in the booth, looking _totally_ out of it. His eyes have that glassy look to them, one that resonates a little too closely to Patrick. And suddenly, all of his feelings of guilt come back to the surface, kinda like vomit, but without all of the stomach acid, and he says to Tyler, “Wait, I’m gonna go talk to Pete.”

Tyler looks back at Pete, who doesn’t seem to notice them, and raises his eyebrows. “Uh, good luck with _that_. I’m gonna ask Emj if she can drop me off at the bus station, see ya in the morning hot stuff.”

Tyler skips (actually _skips_ ) on out after that, leaving the two of them alone in the dark, secluded section of the restaurant- the Rumi section. **‘You are granite / I am an empty wineglass / You know what happens when we touch! / You laugh like the sun coming up laughs / at a star that disappears into it’.**

Pete glances up at the same time that Patrick gazes over to him, and he makes this little motion with his head, telling Patrick to come over. And so, he does. He slips into the booth that Pete’s in, and he lets out a sigh as he greets Pete with, “uh. Hey.”

“Hey,” Pete says back, giving him a tired smile.

And Patrick always feels like he’s intruding, this isn’t his place, Pete’s his boss, like a _normal_ boss, like, Patrick doesn’t sleep with him, people don’t have the relationship that Patrick and Shane had, _Pete isn’t his soulmate_. But the way that Pete’s looking at him… he doesn’t feel like he’s invading his space.

“We don’t have to… y’know, talk about it,” Pete says eventually. He’s looking down at his hands. “Mikey died 3 years ago, it’s a little pathetic that I even-”

Patrick shakes his head. “It’s not.”

“No, listen, it is. But you know the way that soulmates are, I assume, it’s like. Nagging in your head. I don’t know. But we’re not talking about it.”

“We’re not talking about it. Got it.”

And they stop talking about it.

“I liked your poem,” Patrick offers, after a beat, just to keep whatever this is moving. Pete’s voice, forget sexy, although it’s _definitely_ sexy, is comforting. Something Patrick can close his eyes to and _listen_ .  The sweet cream in bitter coffee. Patrick just wants to _hear_ it. “I’m shit at writing, I don’t know, words don’t… come to me like that. Like, baking is my only redeeming quality. That, and… I don’t know. Nothing. Haha.”

He can hear Shane’s voice in his head so clearly. _You’re lucky you found me, baby. You should consider yourself lucky I don’t expect much from you besides baking._

And just like that, the name on his wrist begins to ache. Patrick begins picking at the ribbon’s knot without even thinking about it. _You’re so stupid, it’s cute. You’re so dumb, you’re so dumb, my dumb little blond. At least you can suck dick right._

“Do you need help with that?” Pete asks, and Patrick furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“The… uh, ribbon. Do you need help taking it off?”

Patrick looks down at where he’s been scratching at, and the whole area is red. And when he looks back up, he’s sure his face is the same color. Fucking idiot, he thinks, you can’t even untie a knot. Shane’s in his head again, deep voice blurring everything, _aw, baby, do you need help with that? Even that?_

“Yeah....” Patrick holds his wrist out for Pete, and Pete, who can barely see in the dark, who’s so tipsy that his hands shake, turns his wrist over to the side where the knot is. “I don’t think you’re only good at baking, you’re good at singing. I hear you and Ashley singing, like, over Kanye, it’s good.” Pete says, before he bites down on his bottom lip, to help himself concentrate.

Frankie Cosmos’s “Too Dark” is in the background. Ashley and Hayley sing along to it. It’d be a tender moment if Pete let it be. But he doesn’t. _It doesn’t matter, we’re friends, this is fine,_ he tells himself, but when he pulls the ribbon apart, when he looks up at Patrick, when his fingers brush against Shane’s name and Patrick shudders at the feeling, it matters, it matters, it _definitely_ matters.

“I haven’t felt that in a while,” Patrick laughs, so unsure. He looks down at his wrist and brushes his own thumb across the name, but Pete knows it’s not the same effect. He remembers all of the times Mikey would just touch his wrist and Pete would feel this _rush_ of ecstasy. And Pete has to stop himself from doing it again, because… because Patrick’s not his soulmate. So he doesn’t know why he wants to see it again. That little jolt, the shudder, the not-moan-but-definitely-moan come out of Patrick’s mouth.

“Wait, you don’t…” Pete trails off, raising his eyebrows at him. “Y’know… _that_?”

“What? Fuck?” Patrick asks, and Pete almost chokes over his own spit. Yeah, _that_. It’s surprising to hear Patrick say that so easily and he doesn't know why. It makes Pete _blush._ And Pete’s not one for blushing.

He nods, hoping to whatever God is out there that Patrick can’t see the tint in his cheeks, and Patrick shakes his head. “No… I know that it’s not cheating because we broke up and we’re not together but… I just, I don’t know, that seems wrong, my heart kinda hurts thinking about it. And what we had wasn’t even good, like it wasn’t even anything to write home about, but… you know what I mean?”

Pete doesn’t.

God, this night sucks.

Because now all of those awful feelings come back to the surface. He hates himself for sleeping with other people now, and does this mean that he’s over Mikey? Does he even want to be over Mikey, because that’s his soulmate, and he shouldn’t be over his soulmate, and he shouldn’t brush him off like nothing, he shouldn’t be like Patrick, and he’s not as cold as Patrick, but Patrick doesn’t sleep with anyone else and he _hates_ Shane, so how can Pete do that. And he doesn’t want to be numb from all of his feelings about Mikey, but he should be numb, and he shouldn’t live the rest of his life alone, but he should, because he already had his chance, and, and, and, and-

“Ricky?” A voice pulls Pete out of his quick downward spiral, and when he looks up, Ashley’s standing over the two of them. “Hayley and I are ready when you are. You want a ride, Pete? I think Emj just left to drop Tyler off, she won’t be back for a bit. We might stop for milkshakes if that changes your mind!”

“Oh, I love milkshakes!” Patrick says cheerily, looking at Pete, his smile urges Pete to say yes, but he can’t bring himself to move. Pete looks up at Ashley and shakes his head. “I’m good, I’ll wait for MJ. But thanks. Drive safe.”

And if Patrick frowned, Pete didn’t see it. He catches a flash of **SHANE MORRIS** when Patrick picks up the black ribbon, and he feels Patrick’s hand on his shoulder as he hears him say “Goodnight, Pete. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and that feeling, the warmth of his hand, stays on him even after the door closes.

He sits alone in the dark.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here's the thing. im in college now :/ and LMAO im really dying with the amount of work!!! i look back on my AO3 account and how much i used to write and wow... i wish! like i have to actually work hard now?? crazy... so anyways: my updates!!! they might take forever, like 2-3 weeks and im really sorry about that. that was kinda the reason why i wanted to wait, but i wasnt writing AT ALL /because/ no one was waiting on it, so i feel like this is gonna motivate me?
> 
> but you know what else would REALLY motivate me? :-) kudos and comments. so plz!!! comment and kudos!!! tell me abt ur day!! about fob!! (i went to the mania show in brooklyn, lets talk about that, hoodie patrick is my god) or.. about the fic, which would preferable LOL.
> 
> also rip mikey u were a real one :(


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for me, music always sets the scene. so, if u like frank ocean, when i mention him in the fic, if you can, you should put on the 'channel ORANGE' album, so you can listen to it at the same time that pete and patrick are!!! 
> 
> p&p casually hanging out as the lyrics 'spending too much time alone, and i just ran out trojans' plays behind them. sometimes it be like that...

Pete doesn't have nightmares as often as he used to. They’ve fluctuated so much in his life, frequent when he was a teenager, rare when he met Mikey, _more_ than successive when Mikey died, and now… it's balanced out in a way where he's never expecting them. Sleep to Pete is nothing to look forward to, if he even gets it. He has severe insomnia.

His nightmares never had a theme, not until Mikey died. A lot of them were about being hunted, and running, and running, and being followed by darkness. Some were about the behavioral camp his parents sent him to all of those years ago, starving because he wasn't fed because he was “acting out”, whatever _that_ meant. Others were about him finally caving in and killing himself, and just that image, lying dead in a bathtub surrounded by watery crimson, or hanging by a rope, were enough to harshly thrust him back into consciousness, leaving him with a bad taste in his mouth even after he’d brushed his teeth.

But now, Pete wishes he could have those dreams. Because after Mikey’s passing, it's been the same, recurring one. The one about Mikey’s death.

Pete hadn’t _been_ there, but he knows where it was, he’s heard the police report, he (reluctantly, so fuckin’ reluctantly) talked to the woman who did it, he knew what Mikey was wearing, he knew the fucking _helmet_ he was wearing, he could never forget the details of _Mikey_ that day. Long blond hair that got into his eyes, **GOOD LUCK** on his helmet, the green t-shirt, the black leather jacket, the jeans, the sneakers, the smell of cigarettes on his breath when Pete kissed him goodbye.

 _“Are you sure? There’s so much traffic, you don't have-”_  Pete began to say, before Mikey leaned down, cupped his face, and kissed him to get him to shut up. Pete worried too much. But Pete didn't worry enough that day.

 _“I’ll zip in and out, that's what the motorcycle is for,”_ Mikey laughed, as Pete held the door open for him, leading them out of the restaurant. It was sunny that day. Warm enough for Pete to go out without a jacket, warm enough to feel the sun on his skin. In the movies, rain is always a bad sign, but that day was so beautiful.

 _“I know that,”_ Pete stressed, following Mikey all the way to his motorcycle, _“I know, but- okay, but hurry back. I miss you already.”_

 _“Can I get another good luck kiss?”_ Mikey asked, and Pete tapped the helmet tucked in his armpit. _“I think you have all of the luck you need.”_

As he said it, Pete brought Mikey close, closed his eyes, let himself get pushed against the wall near the restaurant doors, he opened his mouth and let Mikey in, crossed his wrists behind Mikey’s neck. He remembers that kiss not even because it was their last one, but because it was so open. He’d never have that again- kissing his soulmate where everyone could see them, in the warmness of the spring.

When they pulled away for air, Pete brushed his nose against Mikey’s and whispered, _“I miss you already. See you soon.”_

_“See you soon.”_

His nightmares always start off like this. Always. In these horrible dreams, though, he’s watching from the sidelines, like a movie. He watches himself and his infectious smile for a moment, the way that his eyes drop to Mikey’s lips ever so often, the way that he clings to Mikey’s arm, the way that he batted his eyelashes when Mikey ran his thumb over Pete’s cheek, to brush away a fallen eyelash. These are his last memories of him, and he didn’t even know it.

He watches himself wave goodbye to Mikey on that _fucking_ motorcycle, and he screams, **_NO, DON’T LET HIM GO_ ** , but Pete in this dream doesn’t hear him, no one can hear him in these dreams, he screams at everyone and not a single person answers him or even acknowledges he’s there. Dream-Pete just watches Mikey go until he can’t see him anymore, and then he walks back into the restaurant with a giddy smile on his face.

He watches it all. He watches the car drift. He watches Mikey fall off the motorcycle. He watches his body get dragged by another. He’s on the sidelines as they lift the car off of Mikey’s body, he watches as it accidentally gets dropped back onto him, he sees the look on the the paramedics face when they have to take Mikey’s **GOOD LUCK** helmet off his head, he was already dead, everyone told Pete that he couldn’t have felt anything once the car dragged him the couple of feet that it did, but he doesn’t believe that, everyone told him that Mikey didn’t feel any pain, but Pete can’t believe that, he knows that Mikey died a horrible death, there’s so much blood that Pete can taste it in his mouth, his hands feel wet, and when he brings them to his face, they’re tinged with red, everything is red, Mikey’s limp body, his clothes are soaked, the helmet’s left on the side of the road, people oogle at the scene, it’s like a bad car crash, _it is_ a bad car crash, no one wants to look away, and in his dream, he falls to his knees and pukes everywhere.

He wakes up, he jolts forward, and he vomits all over his sheets. But the taste of blood still remains.

* * *

It’s twenty minutes later, 3:24 A.M. He’s standing in the bathroom, staring at himself. His teeth have been brushed, he’s swished the Listerine in his mouth, he’s clean, but he feels dirty. Like if he looks down at his hands, he’ll see the red. Mikey’s blood on his hands. _Why didn’t he stop Mikey from going, why couldn’t he have delayed him, why did he encourage Mikey in buying the motorcycle, why did he, why did I, why couldn’t I, how did I,_

His thoughts are interrupted by MJ pushing the door forward. Steve is at her feet, her dog, and he circles around the two of them for a moment before he runs off somewhere else. Her hair’s a mess, sticking up at the back, her eyes are barely open, and she smells like sweet sweat. Pete’s sure he reeks, but that doesn’t stop MJ from pulling him into a hug. “The sheets are in the wash,” she says into his shoulder, “and I’m too lazy to put new ones onto your bed for you. Just stay with me.”

Pete knows that MJ isn’t too lazy to put his sheets on for him, and he knows that she knows that he’s not going to sleep anytime soon and that he’s perfectly capable of changing his own fucking sheets. She says this so that he’ll stay with her, so she can keep a close eye on him. Wake him up if he falls back asleep and gets another nightmare. Keep him company and rub his back when he sobs into his hands. If there’s one thing Pete’s not afraid to do, it’s _cry._

“I’m fine,” he begins to say, and MJ hums before he can continue. “No,” she says, and she’s right, Pete knows it, “you’re not. Just… stay with me. For me?”

He feels incredibly needy and dependent, he knows all of MJ’s tricks, but MJ gives him a firm look through her rectangular glasses, that he’s not going to be alone tonight, so he accepts defeat. “Okay, fine,” he says, “but only for you.”

It’s a Wednesday, so they don’t go into work until 10:30, so Pete doesn’t feel so bad for staying up with MJ until 7  in the morning. They watch _How I Met Your Mother_ on Netflix, and he falls asleep with his head buried in MJ’s pillows as the sun rises.

* * *

When Pete wakes up again, he doesn’t immediately roll over to hug an empty spot closer. This is because warm hands greet him, shaking his shoulders as gently as they can. The smell of MJ’s sweet shampoo fills his nose, and he can hear barking in the distance- it’s something nice to wake up to, even if Mikey’s not there to enjoy it with him.

“Pete,” MJ says softly, but firmly, “Pete, wake up, I’m about to leave.”

This takes Pete by surprise, so he immediately opens his eyes, even though he has to squint- his eyes aren’t used to all of the sunlight. “Leave?” he croaks, and his eyes dart over to the alarm clock on MJ’s night stand. _9:30. I have to be at work in 30 minutes._

“Leave,” she nods. “You slept through the alarm, which- which is _good_ , you know. You need to take a break, you’re stressing yourself out way too much.”

“I don’t need a _break_ , I-” Pete begins to say, pushing himself up by his elbows. The covers fall off his body, and cool air hits his bare chest. He shakes his head as he rubs the sleep away from his eyes. “I’ll be there in an hour, I need something to _do_ , I-”

MJ grabs Steve’s leash from the nightstand and presses it into his chest. “I have something for you to do now. Walk Steve.”

He glares up at her, and she glares back. “I didn’t walk him this morning, and I don't come back from my break for another 6 hours, so you have to.”

“I took a break yesterday!” he argues with her, “Literally, _yesterday_! I’m… fine, it’s fine, it was just a nightmare, I’m fucking _used_ to them, I’ll be there after I walk Steve.”

She sits at the foot of her bed. “You know that the restaurant won’t catch on fire if you’re not there for one day. I’m not telling you what to do, but… I, um... _strongly_ fuckin’ advise that you just take a day for yourself. You know, walk Steve, call your Mom, you know she called _me_ because _you-_ ”

He buries his head in his hands. “Meagan, it’s not that serious. It was just a bad night. I’ll come in at 2, it’s fine. I’m not going to...” he trails off for a moment, and then laughs a humorless laugh. “Have a nervous breakdown again, or anything. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

She gives him a pained look. “Not funny.”

But she gets up anyway, either because she knows that she won’t talk any sense into Pete, or because she’s gonna be late to open up. It’s probably both. “Fine, I guess it’s a good thing that you’ll come in later. Patrick’s only coming in to help us get everything set up and then he’s leaving, Sameer and I might be going a little crazy trying to get his recipes right.”

She tosses him a look over her shoulder before she calls out a goodbye, and then she’s out the door. But that’s not what Pete cares about- the only thing on Pete’s mind is _Patrick._ So… Patrick _won’t_ be at work? Or at least not when he’ll get there?

Suddenly, staying home doesn’t seem so bad.

As soon as he can work up the courage to get out bed, he gets to work. He quickly slips on a pair of sweatpants and an ill fitting tee-shirt, and he takes Steve out for his walk. He comes back with a street bagel in hand, and he brews coffee as he puts on ‘The Price Is Right’. He doesn’t _watch_ it, but he lets that occupy all of the empty spaces in his mind that would otherwise be filled with Mikey, or his precious restaurant crumbling to pieces, and he cleans around the apartment, something that he and MJ are sort of… too busy to do. He puts a new pair of bedsheets onto his bed, he makes a mental note to thank MJ _again_ for washing the old, dirty ones, and he actually _does_ sit down to call his Mother. ‘You’re not at work? Sweetie, what happened?’ she inquires, and Pete smiles bitterly at the still, silent air. _Everything_ , he wishes he could tell her. But he doesn’t.

By the time he gets off the phone with her, it’s 12:30. His stomach growls and he figures that it can’t hurt to eat before work. That is, until he opens the refrigerator, ready to make just some toast and eggs, and finds it _empty_ , save for a 6-pack, a bottle of ketchup, MJ’s chinese food that’s labeled _“PETE, IF YOU FUCKING TOUCH THIS, I_ **_WILL_ ** _MURDER YOU!!!’_ , and a carton of milk that’s a week past it’s expiration date.

“What the hell?” he mutters to himself, as he grabs the carton of milk. He opens it to dump the spoiled milk out into the sink, the smell itself enough to make him gag. He wonders to himself briefly about how their fridge fucking got like that, but actually... yesterday, he was out with some old friends, and besides that one day a month, he doesn’t… spend that much time at home. He eats at the restaurant, and he sleeps at home, and he drinks his black coffee that doesn’t require opening the fridge, and then he goes back to work. The milk in the fridge could have been there for months, and he wouldn’t have noticed a thing.

So, that’s how Pete finds himself walking Steve for the second time, but this time, taking him to the supermarket. He’s not sure how he looks- a man in his 30's wearing a woman’s hot pink hoodie (MJ’s Victoria’s Secret hoodie is soft and more importantly, the only thing that looked mildly clean), walking a dog in the _supermarket_. In retrospect, he’s probably not allowed to do that, but no one stops him, so he doesn’t leave. It’s probably because everyone thinks he’s crazy.

 _Good_ , he thinks to himself. _Stay away from me._

Nostalgic 90s music plays over the radio, and he hums to himself as he tosses items into his basket: _Bread. Butter. New (_ ** _not expired_** _) milk. Bell peppers. Eggs. Green shallot. Onions. Garlic. A packet of chicken breast._ This all seems like too much for just one breakfast, but looking into his fridge was… embarrassing. Not that he would have to look in there a lot, because there’s no way he was gonna take another day off, and-

“... _Pete_?”

His shoulders tense up. He knows that voice. It belongs to blue eyes and a black ribbon around a milky white wrist. And when he looks up to see Patrick, he’s not surprised, but he feels a violent pang in his chest. Patrick’s so fucking beautiful in this shitty light. Pete feels like he’s gonna puke again.

He’s wearing a baseball cap, but Pete can still see the shine in his blue eyes despite the hat, and the thick rimmed glasses Pete didn’t even know Patrick wore. And he’s wearing this magnificent red cardigan that–

Pete looks down at his hoodie. Bright pink practically blinds him.

He runs a hand down the side of his face, and his stubble scratches his palm. God, he regrets this outfit all of a sudden. But he can’t run away now, so: “Hey, Patrick.”

It’s very safe to say that Pete’s never felt like this in his entire life. It was so easy with Mikey. They met on fucking MySpace, after Pete looked up the name that was on his wrist. Made plans in high school to apply to the same college, because they lived in different states, and they liked the same thing: culinary arts. They had _known_ each other when they met for the first time, at their college orientation. Pete _screeched_ when he saw Mikey, he ran towards him and he jumped into Mikey’s arms and his weight was so unexpected to Mikey that they both went tumbling down to the soft grass. They kissed for the first time, and Pete felt like he was home. The strongest sense of _relief_ coursed through his veins, and he thought ‘ _this is it, this is who I’ve been waiting for my whole life_ ’ as he cried the happiest tears he had ever cried.

This feels like… _something._ He’s flooded with so much want, but it’s so unnatural. His feet are stuck to the ground. He can’t move. He’s not jumping into Patrick’s arms. He feels so sick, but his heart is thumping in his chest so hard he’s surprised it’s not visible, and he’s thinking to himself, _what the hell is happening to me._

“I, uh, missed you today,” Patrick offers weakly, because he’s not sure what else he’s supposed to say.

Steve looks between the two of them, before he boops his nose on Patrick’s sneakers.

“Can I pet him?” Patrick asks, and when Pete nods, Patrick quickly drops to the ground and he _awws_ when Steve licks over his face. He scratches behind Steve’s ears, and Pete groans, “Steve, _stop_ ,” when Steve goes to chew on the bag of potato chips in Patrick’s basket.

"I didn’t know if- is he a service dog?” Patrick asks, in a soft, cooing voice- he’s asking Pete, but he’s still smiling so adoringly at Steve.

Again, Pete’s voice catches in his throat at the image, of Patrick looking up at him from the floor, but he moves past it, coughing slightly as he stammers, “Oh… uh… no, he’s… MJ’s, he’s MJ’s dog, he’s not… yeah.”

Patrick quirks an eyebrow, and he says light-heartedly, “Are dogs allowed in the supermarket?”

Pete shrugs. “No fuckin’ clue. I just needed food, and... y’know. I didn’t wanna leave him alone.”

There’s an awkward silence that Pete feels the need to fill. So, he fills it. “But, uh, yeah… I took sort of a mental health day. Half-day. I’m going in after I make breakfast, which… I could have just had _there_ , but… uh…”

He never knew he was so bad at words till now.

“So, what are _you_ buying?” he adds, as a sort of last resort. Patrick gives Steve one last pet before he lifts himself off the ground. He adjusts his hat a little, and Pete’s eyes follow the ribbon. Paired with the cardigan, with the baseball cap, Patrick’s ribbon looks so out of place. Pete wants to pull the ribbon off, smooth like butter, and suck a bruise over the name that doesn’t belong to him, he wants to watch Patrick close his eyes and moan, and-

“Some stuff to make pumpkin squares,” Patrick smiles. It pulls Pete out of his trance. “Even though I think I’m best at cupcakes, pumpkin squares are my favorite thing to make. I’m… er, sort of celebrating today, actually.”

Pete raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s been 3 months since the papers were signed, so… I’m sort of celebrating my freedom. Woo! No more, uh, _abuse_ , so….”

Patrick fumbles over his words as he laughs about the clear fuckin’ hell that Shane put him through. And even though Pete’s a little… offended, maybe, that Patrick would celebrate his freedom from the ‘bullshit’ (in Tyler’s words) that _is_ soulmates, Pete can’t help but feel happy for Patrick, that he didn’t let himself stay in a situation like that. Even if celebrating a break-up alone seems pretty awful.

“Oh, cool,” Pete offers, and he gives Patrick another awkward smile. “I’ve never had pumpkin squares before, actually.”

“Never?!?!” Patrick exclaims loudly, loud enough to catch the attention of an employee standing a couple of feet away. He looks like he wants to say something about Steve, but he takes in Pete’s form, the stained sweatpants, the pink hoodie, the unshaved face, the hair sticking up out of his head.

The employee decides to leave Pete alone. Pete is eternally grateful.

“You have to try them,” Patrick gushes, and he gives Pete another shocked look as he says, “wait, you’ve never at least _learned_ how to make them? I thought they would teach that at culinary school…”

“What? Nah… what school did you go to?” Pete asks, and Patrick frowns instantly. “I didn’t.”

“Oh. Oh! I mean, that’s--” “I know it’s okay.” “Yeah, I know, I- yeah.” “Yeah…”

Now, this is… no, this _should_ be the end of their conversation. Pete says his goodbyes, says he has to be excused, he has to go to work, there’s nothing more that Pete can add to that conversation to make it any less awkward. And yet, Pete does none of that. And instead:

“You should come over!” he blurts. “To- to my place. If you want. I mean, celebrating by yourself sounds-”

Patrick gives him an amused smirk. “Who said I was alone?”

And when Pete gives Patrick a horrified look, Patrick laughs, and the sound echoes in Pete’s ears. “Kidding! I’m kidding, I’ll be alone, my roommate won’t be home for a while. I’d love to come over.”

“Roommate?” Pete asks, and Patrick nods. “Roommate. His name’s Andy, he works at this tattoo parlor a couple blocks away, Penny Tattoo Parlor? But that’s besides the point…”

Patrick looks at Pete, and he bites down gently on his lower lip, and Pete looks at Patrick, and the moment is still. Until someone calls out a couple feet away, “You’re not allowed to have a dog in here unless they’re a service pet, you guys!”

* * *

“... So you’re not coming into work?” MJ asks over the phone. Patrick’s two feet away from Pete, getting all of his ingredients set up. It’s 2:13 PM. Pete’s not coming into work. “The same thing that you almost fought with me over this morning. And you’re not coming in.”

“I mean, do you need me to?” Pete asks, nervousness seeping into his voice, “cause- why, what happened, you’re making me nervous, what did- oh shit, what did Tyler do?”

Patrick, who’s been eavesdropping on Pete’s side of the conversation, laughs into the material of his cardigan. Pete looks up and he mouths to Patrick _‘I never know with him’_ and he cracks a smile when Patrick laughs harder.

“No! Tyler didn’t- wait, who’s with you? I hear laughing.”

And holy shit, Pete knows MJ’s gonna give him so much crap about this when they’re alone together. But he can’t lie, so- “I, uh, ran into Patrick at the supermarket. So… Patrick.”

A beat.

“... _Patrick_ ,” she says slowly. “You’re skipping work, the one thing that you, _again-_ ”

“It doesn’t matter, right?” Pete interrupts her, “because you’re good there and the place isn’t gonna flood, so-”

“Oh, you _know_  that’s not the reason I’m- Pete, oh my God. This is actually hilarious. You’re with Patrick?!”

And then MJ laughs over the phone for a full 15 seconds straight. Patrick gives Pete an odd look when Pete doesn’t reply for a while, and Pete shakes his head. There’s no way he could tell Patrick about what’s happening right now.

“Okay, you guys enjoy your, uh… _whatever you’re doing_ ,” MJ giggles, and then she says after another beat, “Use condoms! Love you! I promise, everything is good here, bye!” and then she hangs up before Pete can say anything else.

And Pete quickly looks up to see if Patrick heard what she said, but thankfully, it looks like he didn’t- he’s cracking eggs in a bowl, and he smiles gently at Pete when he says goodbye to an empty line. “See? You made MJ acting manager for a reason, let her do her job.”

“I know, but it’s like- it’s like my… kid,” Pete tries to explain, and when Patrick gives him a questioning look, he continues. “Like, Mikey and I… we made it, y’know. It was the both of us, and we started it from scratch, so just leaving it alone feels strange.”

Patrick doesn’t flinch at the mention of Mikey’s name, and Pete doesn’t either, but the mention of him lingers in the air. Mikey. Pete doesn’t believe in ghosts, neither does Patrick, but the air seems to get cooler. Pete has to look at his hands to reassure himself that they’re not covered in hot red blood. And they’re not, but he hones in on his ringless finger. The ring is it’s box, buried somewhere in his closet.

“I can understand that,” Patrick says, and he rolls up his cardigan sleeves as he adds, “Shane was like that. Except it was- I mean it was Shane’s place, I didn’t…” he trails off, laughing to himself, “I didn’t own anything, I just worked there. I didn’t make my own money, he put everything into our joint account. Because we were married. _Married_.”

He very roughly opens a can of pumpkin. “But now we’re not! And we’re _celebrating_!”

When he turns to look at Pete, his eyes quickly divert to his cabinet of CDs, which is so conveniently next to the alcohol cabinet. Pete follows his gaze, and he laughs sheepishly. “Oh. Yeah. I have a lot of CDs… and alcohol...”

Patrick looks like he’s weighing his options, but he settles on: “Do you have any Frank Ocean?”

Pete turns his back to go grab his _channel ORANGE_ CD, and under his breath, Patrick mutters to himself _“Marriage… we were married.”_

Pete stands on the tips of his toes to stick the CD in the player and when he turns back around, Patrick’s baseball cap has been tossed to the side, and he’s measuring out his ingredients. His thin auburn hair glistens when the light shining in from the window hits it. Violins from ‘Thinkin Bout You’ sound, and suddenly Pete’s worrying that this… wasn’t an appropriate album. But Patrick doesn’t seem to care- the only indication that Pete can get that Patrick’s hearing the same lyrics as he is is the way that Patrick shifts from foot to foot, dancing without dancing. “Okay, c’mere,” Patrick says to him, beckoning him closer. “I’m gonna teach you how to make them.”

In all honesty, it’s kind of hard to follow Patrick. Not because of the ribbon, which he continues to wear (Pete thinks it’s somewhat of a fire hazard, but it _is_ pretty secure. Set with a pretty knot.). No, it's because Patrick’s all over the place. He’s singing under his breath, “ _grapevine, mango, peaches, and limes, the sweet life”,_ then he’s like “So… _one and half_ cups of sugar, like that, but…”, and then he’ll casually stick a spoon into the mixture to taste it, shake his head, add more sugar, say “See, y’know, actually, you’ll wanna- _one and two thirds_ cups of sugar,” and then he’ll wash the spoon off, taste it again, nod, wash the spoon off once more, give it to Pete, sing along to “ _why see the world when you’ve got the beach”,_ and then when Pete finishes tasting it, it tastes like heaven, Patrick nods once more. “THAT. It has to taste like that, so memorize it.”

Patrick’s a hurricane, he’s all over the place, and Pete’s so blissfully caught in the middle of it.

“So, did you get all of that?” he asks, and Pete hesitantly nods. “I, uh, think so.”

And then the process repeats, until they’re pouring a mixture into a pan, and setting it into the oven at 350 degrees. Their frosting is sitting in the freshly restocked refrigerator. They have to wait 31 minutes, let it cool for 12, and then they pour the frosting on it. And Pete’s never been one for pumpkin, but it looks _good._

However, Pete doesn’t have much time to dream about the pumpkin squares- it’s his turn to make food. This is easy, though. Pete’s good at eggs. Really good. Patrick watches Pete as he butters up pieces of bread to toast, but when Pete looks up, Patrick averts his eyes, and focuses instead on the poem behind him, pinned on the cabinet where Pete keeps his coffee grounds. Well, not a poem… more like the beginnings of one. Something that Pete started the night before and meant to finish up.

“So, how’d you get into poetry?” Patrick asks, his head angled to the side a little as he reads the scribbled words:

 

**I am mapless**

**You are caught**

**Lets go out and get forgotten**

**Bad news travels fast**

**And I am the worst of it.**

**I am staring at the most beautiful creature**

**on the planet…**

 

“I don’t think it’s-- like, it’s always been a thing,” Pete answers, as he chops up the pepper he’s gonna put in the eggs. But he’s not necessarily paying attention to what he’s doing- he’s staring at the most beautiful creature on the planet. “It used to be short stories when I was younger but as I got older… I just felt like my characters were these _puppets_ that said and did everything through my own filter. And I don’t like being a puppeteer, I don’t like putting my words into other people’s mouths. Plus, poetry’s more personal. It’s like, I dunno, therapeutic, kinda? In a way that cooking isn’t. I wouldn’t wanna set my kitchen on fire with rage or pent up… _aggression_ , but I can do it on a piece of paper.”

His mind drifts to poems about those _aggressions,_ the sexual pent up aggression, and he inwardly grins to himself. Those poems were a mess, but they were good, and funny, and they both turned Mikey on and made him laugh like crazy. Pete _misses_ sex with Mikey. Misses being in love while having it, misses the familiarity that came with it. When he didn’t always have his guard up. When he didn’t have to wear condoms. When he didn’t have to feel latex _inside_ him.

He scrunches his nose up at the thought before throwing pepper into a heated pan. Pete returns his attention to Patrick when Patrick hums, understanding where Pete’s coming from. “Oh, that’s cool. I’ve always wanted to write… I mean, I write music, but… I never do anything with it.”

“I don’t do much with my writing either,” Pete looks up, and gives Patrick a sympathetic smile. “So we have that in common.”

Frank Ocean occupies their silences, but it’s welcoming, _I watch you fix your hair…  then put your panties on in the mirror, Cleopatra… Then your lipstick, Cleopatra… Then your six inch… heels… catch her, she’s headed to the pyramid,_ and he _cooks_ for the two of them. It’s not until he hands Patrick a plate, toast and eggs, that he considers this. He’s making breakfast. They’re listening to sexy Frank Ocean songs. This is not natural. Maybe he’s overthinking it. His fingers brush Patrick’s, and Frank’s going _you’re wet and you’re warm just like our bathwater, can we make love before you go, the way you say my name…_

“Pete,” Patrick asks, “do you have any coffee? I’ll make it.”

“Pete,” Patrick asks, “how do you turn this on?”

“Pete,” Patrick asks, “is this okay?”

“Pete,” Patrick asks, “how do you like it?”

“Pete,” Patrick asks, “am I doing it right?”

“Pete,” Patrick asks, “ _how_ many spoonfuls of sugar?”

Patrick’s afraid of doing something wrong.

And suddenly, Pete's sick of hearing his name.

 _It would never work, this would never work. He’s not Mikey_ , Pete yells at himself internally. _He doesn’t know what you want. He’s not Mikey. He doesn’t know anything about you. You can’t expect him to know._

But he wants it. Wants to see his name under Patrick’s ribbon because maybe, just maybe, it could be like how it was with Mikey. But Patrick is _not_ Mikey. Pete watches Patrick pour milk into his coffee, and that’s _not_ how Mikey would drink it. Patrick’s eyes, brilliant blues, are _not_ Mikey’s gorgeous hazels. _You don’t like Patrick_ , Pete tells himself, _you just want Mikey._

 _Lost,_ Frank Ocean sings, _lost in the thrill of it all._

 _Patrick is beautiful,_ Pete thinks, _but he’s not mine. There is nothing that we can do for each other. This is nothing but wanting to see Mikey in him… I don’t like Patrick. I can’t like Patrick. It means nothing. I’ve loved and lost. I am mapless… and Patrick is caught._

And they talk while they eat their breakfast, and Patrick makes Pete giggle so hard that his stomach hurts as they pour frosting over the cooled pumpkin squares, and Pete feels so strongly for Patrick, he can’t identify what it is, he doesn’t know what it is. But he convinces himself it’s nothing. _This is nothing._ When Pete walks him down to the lobby, when Patrick says goodbye, when Patrick pushes his headphones into his ears, when Patrick walks away, when he looks over his shoulder and waves, whatever feeling Pete has in his gut to run after him… it’s nothing.

 _Nothing wrong,_ Frank Ocean sings, _nothing wrong with a lie._

* * *

When MJ comes back for her break, Pete’s heading out the door, ready to go into work.

“Where are you going?” she asks him, her eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you weren’t coming into work? What happened to that, where’s Patrick?”

“He went home,” Pete says. “Listen, the Patrick thing… it’s stupid. I can’t do that, it’s too wrong. We’re just friends, I don’t want it to be a… thing.”

MJ nods. Pete knows that she can be the kind of friend that makes fun of him, that laughs and sings ‘Pete and Patrick sitting in a tree’, and makes it into a joke. And that’s the most annoying thing in the world, and Pete hates it… but the fact that MJ didn’t, the fact that she just pulled him into a hug and said “Take your time, then”... that’s worse.

He writes in brilliant blue on the poetry wall on a day when he usually doesn’t:

 

**I am mapless**

**You are caught**

**Let’s go out and get forgotten.**

**Bad news travels fast**

**And I am the worst of it.**

 

**I am completely obsessed with everyone who is completely unobsessed with me.**

**Or sometimes with life.**

**And by life i dont mean heartbeats and breathing.**

 

**i mean 9 to fives and becoming the suburbs.**

**The completely fuck off of it all being that i am**

**completely obsessed with backyards,**

**christmas trees and lemonaid stands.**

 

**I don’t even remember saying goodbye to you.**

**I broke out the ouija board and tried to contact the living.**

**I said I need an outline and a diagram**

**but then I can pretty much take it from here.**

**Switch out the characters in this dream cause they just don’t seem realistic.**

**Play the part.**

**Change the light cause it makes my skin look washed out.**

**The hardest part about life**

**is the living part.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (e) a potato flew around my room before u came excuse the mess it made it usually doesnt rain
> 
> ANYWAYSSSSSSSSSS sorry for all of the run-on sentences, i realize how gramatically incorrect like all of my writing is, but.. that's my style how else are people supposed to know they're reading an uma emeraldcitydowntowngirl fic???? oh yeah, the long end notes... sometimes i just gotta rant :( but anyways, i hope this was a good update! honest 2 god, comments motivated me sm and i found myself falling in love w writing again as cheesy at that sounds. like, as soon as i knew that people liked what i was doing, i just kept writing, and i realize now that waiting to post this... it would have never been posted lol.
> 
> ALSO- i am really sorry that i am constantly chopping and cutting pete's poems- a lot of pete's poems in this fic are little bits of his other poems, because a lot of it doesnt fit for what i want, and honestly sometimes the poem's dont even fit... but they invoke sad feelings in me, so i put it. like the one at the end is like... 5 different pete poems in one. 
> 
> pls leave a comment if you enjoyed this/if you like the last half of "pyramids" by frank ocean more than the first half/???? just validate me if u can!!!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***WARNING- the last section of the fic (its divided into 3) discusses the emotional trauma and abuse that patrick went through in like. FULL detail. so please, watch out for that!***

The schedule at Edgar Allan Potato is… strange. It took a while to tweak it to perfection, to the right amount of hours that people would want to come into a _breakfast_ restaurant. Noon to 10pm on Mondays to Thursdays, Noon to 3am on Fridays, 8am to 3am on Saturdays, and 8am to 10pm on Sundays. Needless to say… Saturdays and Sundays are rough. Amazing for business! But _rough_.

This means that everyone, all of Patrick’s ‘sorta’ friends (he only calls them this because he’s not sure if they _actually_ like him), see each other on the weekends- everyone’s there, in and out of shifts. Right now, Patrick’s sitting at the bar, on his break, at 1am. Because people are still ordering desserts at 1am.

Patrick doesn’t question it. At this restaurant… he’s learned to stop questioning a lot of things. Tyler included.

“No,” Tyler says to Patrick, “you don’t understand. Sameer’s voice? Is fuckin’ _art_. Sam’s voice tastes like what your- wait, no, wrong way, I haven’t slept in 24 hours. Sam’s voice _sounds_ like what your brownies taste like. Brown goodness.”

“ _Please_ don’t describe my singing voice as ‘brown goodness’” Sameer laughs, hard enough for the corners of his eyes to crinkle. But Patrick can believe Tyler, he can hear the sweetness in Sameer’s laugh, in the way he talks. And Tyler seems to have the same train of thought, because he says, “Dude, even your _laugh_ is full of brown goodness! It’s not fair, can I cut your throat open, grab your vocal chords and-”

“So, effectively killing Sam in the process?” Josh asks, coming up to the trio- he’s still technically working, but it’s easy to mix drinks and talk at the same time. And to that, Tyler shrugs. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

Sameer just grins, like he’s used to this. “Keep going, I like the praise.”

“If you weren’t married to Jess…” Tyler shakes his head as he trails off into his own world for a second. “Sucks that you actually believe in soulmates, we could have totally hooked up.”

Sameer waves him off with his left hand- the same hand that his wedding ring is on, and the same hand that’s attached to the wrist where his wife’s name is stitched on in bold. “In your dreams,” he says to Tyler, who nods enthusiastically, and Sameer returns his attention back to Patrick and what they were talking about before they got into the richness of Sameer’s voice. “So anyway- you should totally come and see us. We only really do local stuff but.. but we play actual gigs! It’s me on vocals, Tyler on bass, Hayls on the the guitar sometimes, and Josh on the drums. Oh, and me on the guitar too, but-”

Josh interrupts him and says jokingly, “But he totally sucks at it. He makes up for it in his voice though, his voice sounds like… angels.”

Sameer nods miserably about the guitar part. “Yeah, these guys think I’m talented but I’m really not _that_ talented. But we’re still decent, which is the point! We’re called Young The Giant because… I forgot. And we’re super lowkey, because we spend all of our time here.”

“I think Hayley came up with it. The name, I mean. Hayley’s super cool like that, she just comes up with stuff,” Josh says, and when he looks over to Tyler, Tyler nods. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

“We’re sorta the writers who can’t write poetry,” Sameer begins to say, before Tyler scoffs. “Speak for yourself, man. I can write poetry, we all know who’s the talent of the group.”

But he doesn’t mean this, because a second later, he looks to Patrick and says, “Kidding. Sameer does the lyrics _and_ the melodies, I’d seriously suck his dick, and I can say that because we’re best friends, and it doesn’t count as sexual harassment.”

Patrick finds it truly admirable how much Tyler’s friends love him, how much Tyler’s friends love each other, how much they _all_ love each other. He watches Sameer and Tyler link pinky fingers as they laugh, and he thinks in his head, _friendship… I want that._

“I can play the guitar,” Patrick blurts out. All 3 boys turn their attention to him, looking at him with surprised expressions, and all Patrick can think is _friendship, I want to be friends with them, having friends is normal, having your soulmate be your only friend is not normal, keep talking._ “I can play the guitar, if you need me to. If you _want_ me to. I have a really good memory, melodies click in my head… I mean, if you need the help, that is…”

Patrick’s really good at music. And baking. And a lot of things, actually. He never gives himself enough credit for anything.

“Are you serious?” Sameer asks, _ecstatic_ written all over his face. “Dude, yes! Holy _shit_ , let’s do it! We only meet, like, twice a week, and it’s in the morning before work, but… Jess doesn’t care about the noise, she leaves for work before we practice,” he says, and Josh nods along. “It’s so much fun, Sameer lives in a house, so we can make as much noise as we want. Look at him, living that millennial dream- he has a _house_!”

“Rent!” Sameer laughs, “we fucking rent, we have no money!”

He speaks through giggles about how he would probably be living on the streets if it weren't for Jess, that he owes her everything, that he would have nothing if it weren’t for her.

But it hurts Patrick so much. Sameer’s happy. Sameer’s wife doesn’t think that Sameer owes her anything- they’re in love, they’re married, they share things, that’s what couples _do_ . But when Patrick was with Shane, Patrick was forever in Shane’s debt. **_You would be nothing without me Patrick. You’re making the wrong decision, and when you realize that, I’ll be waiting. You know I love you, that I would give you everything. Why can’t you just fucking appreciate that?_ **

“Patrick?”

The mention of his name pulls Patrick away from the trance that Shane’s voice, in his mind, has on him, and he blinks as he tries to clear the blurriness in his eyes. “Shit, sorry. I’m super tired, what happened?”

“It’s cool, I’m about to pass out too. Anyway- you’re cool for Sam’s house? Sam has a guitar if you need it,” Josh says, and he inches a cool glass of water Patrick’s way, one that Patrick takes gratefully. “I have a guitar, it’s okay,” he says, before he takes a sip. “But thanks.”

They lounge around for a moment, Tyler goes on to compliment Sameer’s hair, but they’re interrupted by- “TYLER!”

It’s Pete, who has appeared out of nowhere. He looks totally and thoroughly done with everyone. His eyes are tired, looking like he could roll into bed any moment now. “Dude, you’re fuckin’ killing me, you know I hate being bad boss, but can you _please_ just get back to work, you’re not on break, and-”

“Okay, okay!” Tyler holds his hands up to surrender, and he walks back to the Rupi Kaur section backwards so that he can look at Pete when he says, “It won’t happen again, sorry! I was just too distracted by Sameer’s hair, it’s perfect, wouldja look at that? Just look at it, wouldja look at it?!”

Pete pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a deep breath before he starts to head back to wherever he came from- sometimes he’ll walk around and ask how the customers are doing, that sort of thing, but before he leaves, he and Patrick share this _look_. Like, Patrick stares at Pete, and Pete stares at Patrick, and they don’t say anything to each other, but they hold that gaze for an unreasonable amount of time, only breaking it when Pete accidentally walks into a wall.

When Patrick turns back to Josh and Sameer, expecting completely to go back to their previous conversation, to go back to the band, he’s greeted by their surprised faces. Josh’s jaw is dropped, and Sameer’s eyes are widened. “Dude…” Josh says, laughing a little, he doesn’t know what to do with himself, he’s so shocked, “what the hell was _that_?”

“What?” Patrick asks, “that was- nothing, it- nothing!”

“He walked into a wall,” Sameer says. “A _wall_. That was like full on-”

“Eye sex. It was eye sex. _Total_ eye sex,” Josh exclaims, loudly, and Patrick and Sameer both shush him. Sameer does it while laughing, though, but Patrick’s just plain embarrassed. “It wasn’t… _eye-sex,_ it was just- Pete’s eyes are nice, you know, I don’t know, he just-”

But Patrick was feeling something. Why didn’t Pete look away? Why didn’t _he_ look away? Shane had icy and cold blue eyes. But Pete’s eyes… they pull him in and don’t let go. Warm, milk chocolate eyes. They remind Patrick of caramel filling. They’re like Sameer’s voice… er, _brown goodness._

“I mean, do you…” Josh trials off. “You _know_.”

“...like him?” Patrick asks, in a soft voice. “I don’t think so. We’re just… both single. I think it’s just comforting company. He doesn’t- like, I don’t know. Why? Did he say anything?”

Both Sameer and Josh shake their heads. Patrick lets out a deep breath. “Yeah, see, so… I’m just someone new. It’s fine, though, I don’t wanna be in a relationship. That would be really bad. I still feel…”

He shifts uncomfortably. “ _Fucked_ after everything. I don’t think I could jump into something like that. Can we, can we change the subject? Tell me more about the band.”

And so, they tell him more about the band. They formed it a while ago, they said, because it gave them an excuse to actually hang out outside of work. They said that the dream would be to quit their jobs and do it full time, but that they can’t necessarily do that considering the fact that everyone’s working. _Tyler works full-time too,_ Josh explains to Patrick, even though he’s already figured as much. _It’s something fun that Ty does_ , Josh says. _Besides hooking up with random people. Not that that’s my business._ Josh bites on his lip. _It’s totally not my business. Sorry I said that._ Sameer tells Patrick that they don’t perform a lot, and that they don’t perform _here_.

“ _Why_ don’t you guys perform here?” Patrick asks. He looks over to the stage that was wiped clean on Tuesday night. Tyler’s fixing a typo on the wall adjacent to it, licking his finger before he wipes away the wrong word. “Does Pete not like it?”

“I don’t think Pete’s ever heard us,” Sameer says. “Or if he did, he’s never come to live shows. Pete kinda… doesn’t go out. Just stays inside. I mean, he’s always here, but even when the 4 of us all have off, or we take off together, he won’t leave.”

“And we don’t perform here because of Brendon Urie. Something about how, like, we’d be stealing his quote unquote _brand_ , or whatever the fuck. Like he’s never officially said it, it’s not a contract, but he’s... Brendon Urie is… _something else_.”

That name immediately sends chills down Patrick’s spine. _Brendon Urie._

The breeze of the door opening sends chills down Patrick’s spine as well. _Brendon Urie._

“What the hell?!” Sameer whips his head around to look at Josh, “you summoned him!”

“WHERE’S _PETE_?” Brendon Urie yells at Gabe, the ‘Pete’ tinged with disgust. His voice is shrill, like it’s shocking all of Patrick’s cells and nerves, and the only thing Patrick can do is stare at his gorgeous face, he can’t look away. Brendon Urie is so pretty. So skinny. His hair is shiny and full. It’s not _thinning_.  “I NEED TO TALK TO HIM.”

He doesn’t wait for a response,  just pushes Gabe out of the way, and makes a beeline for the kitchen. Two seconds later, Ryan Ross walks through the door, and follows the hurricane without saying a word to Gabe. They come in a pair. It’s Brendon-And-Ryan. Even with Shane, it was Shane and Brendon-And-Ryan. It’s an irrational thought, but for a second, Patrick admires that. Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross didn’t cheat on each on each other. They cheated _together_. They do it together, because they’re soulmates.

“Let’s go,” Sameer says to Josh and Patrick, and Josh makes eye-contact with the other mixologist at the bar, Greta, who just shrugs. So, Sameer and Josh go, and they bring Patrick with them. Patrick doesn’t know why he goes, but he goes, he wants to see them. Wants to understand why Shane chose them. Even though Patrick gets it. He really gets it. It’s the two of them. They’re both skinny, both gorgeous, both have warm, brown eyes. They’re sassy, they fight back. Patrick’s just… conditioned to behave. Maybe Shane got bored of that.

Josh, Sameer, and Patrick (and Tyler- he glances at Josh with a sheepish look, like ‘what? I can’t miss this’) walk into the kitchen, where Pete and Brendon are already arguing.

“You’re pathetic,” Brendon laughs breathlessly, ”really, _really_ fuckin’ pathetic. I know it must hurt, that little voice inside your head telling you that I’m better than you, but I never thought you’d sink so low as to copy me!”

Brendon speaks with an air of confidence- he’s loud, and he throws his hands around a lot, and he _laughs_. “Me! You copied _me_ , Pete! I wonder what Mikey would say if he were here, if he knew that you were stealing ideas from me. I think he’d be a little embarrassed.”

He moves in closer. “I thought you hated me, Pete. But if you hate me so much, why are you so keen on being exactly like me?”

Pete’s relatively calm, but Patrick can see a tension in his shoulders that he’s never seen before. He’s gritting his teeth, and his fists are clenched. But no one’s screaming. “Okay,” Pete says calmly, “and who copied _who_ for a night where people can come in and show off their talents? Because I know it wasn’t me. And did I barge into _your_ restaurant?”

Brendon does not answer this point.

“I know it must be really hard,” Brendon says, his voice dripping with faux empathy, “running a restaurant by yourself. _All by yourself._ But I thought you were better than that. Stealing _my_ ideas? You unoriginal fuck.”

“Yeah, you tell him!” Ryan cheers in the background. There’s a hickey on his neck, even though they’re far too old for visible hickies, and Patrick feels a little sick. Who put that on him? Who did that?

Pete does nothing, let’s Brendon crowd in his personal space. For a second, it looks like they’re gonna start making out, and for some reason, that makes Patrick’s stomach clench. _You can’t take him too_ , he thinks for a moment, before he frowns. Why did he think that?

“And I _know_ this is you being jealous, and you know what, I feel bad for you! I really, really do. I don’t know what I would do if my soulmate died.”

He beams with happiness. “Such a horrible accident. And I can’t blame you for being jealous, because why wouldn’t you be? I have a supportive soulmate. I have a beautiful café. I have everything you want.”

Pete is quiet, even when Brendon presses a finger into his chest. “But you’re fucking delusional if you think that you can copy me and get away with it.”

“Dude,” Tyler pipes up, being the first one to attempt to put a stop to it. “Give it a rest, you made your point, just get the hell out.”

Unfortunately, Tyler’s standing next to Patrick. And when Brendon sees Patrick, a new fire gets ignited in him. Ryan looks at him too, before he turns to grin at Brendon. And all Patrick can do is stare back.

“You’re right,” Pete says quickly, urgently. “I’m stupid, and unoriginal, and-”

“I do have to give you credit, Pete,” Brendon says slowly, and when he smiles at Patrick, Patrick understands. Brendon is so pretty. It makes Patrick want to fucking cry. Everyone looks between the two of them- they’re wondering _why is Brendon honing in on him._

“You got _Patrick_ ,” Brendon says, and when he gets close enough to Patrick, Sameer steps in between them. Pete’s frozen in his place. “Hey Patrick,” Brendon says, “do you have anything to say to Shane? A message, maybe?”

Patrick shakes his head. Brendon grins wider. Even his teeth are perfect, framed by pink lips. “Good,” he says, before he says sadly, “his dick is gonna be so far down my fucking throat, I don’t think he’d get it.”

Tyler shrieks, and he slaps a hand over his mouth. MJ quickly intervenes, “Okay, you gotta get the fuck out of here-”, and Sameer’s speaking too, yelling something, but the ringing in Patrick’s ears is so loud that he can’t hear whatever he’s saying. Brendon laughs when Gabe pushes him out of the kitchen, and Ryan follows, laughing as well, and everyone’s laughing, and why is everyone laughing?

Why is _he_ laughing?

“It’s fine!” Patrick laughs, “it’s fine! It’s fine. It’s fine. _It’s fine_.”

The restaurant has to continue running. And Patrick’s break is over. So, things slowly shift back to normal. Pete coughs uncomfortably when Hayley walks in, oblivious to what just happened, and starts yelling orders out. Patrick’s hands shake as he begins to make his last batch of brownies. Sameer works close to him, and they don’t exchange words, but he feels reassured, just having Sameer next to him. He hands him a container to open, and when Sameer hands it back to him, Sameer looks _pissed_. Not at Patrick, but at what happened.

And he wishes he could be angry. He should be angry! He should be so angry, enough to run after Brendon and punch him in his perfect face. Let him feel ugly, with a bleeding nose and a bruise over his eye. He wishes he had half the confidence Brendon had. To storm into his café, and pin him against a wall, and spit in his face. _“Who the fuck do you think you are?”_ Patrick would say. _“Don’t fucking look at me again. Don’t fucking come near me again. Don't you dare speak to me like that.”_

He plays this situation out in his head over and over again, as he silently works. Bloody hands hitting a bloody nose, screaming and snarling in Brendon’s face, no, not Brendon anymore, it’s Shane. He’s destroying Shane’s face. _“This is how you fucking made me feel,”_ he would hiss. _“Your ugly, mauled up face, this is how you made me feel._ **_This_** _. You made me feel like_ **_this_** _.”_

He’s kicking Shane in the chest, and shrieking as he does it. _“I didn’t deserve what you did to me!”_ he roars, _“I deserved so much fucking better, I deserve so much better. I hope you die and rot here. I hope you burn in fucking hell. You don’t deserve any of my sympathy, I feel nothing for you. You owe me 10 years of happiness, I’ll never forgive you for what you did to me, you owe me, you owe_ **_me_** _, you-”_

“Patrick,” Sameer’s saying. Patrick snaps back to it. “I think the eggs are beat enough.”

He looks down at the eggs in his basin, and he says softly, “we have to start again. I’m sorry.”

Sameer nods, like he understands.

* * *

Patrick doesn’t allow himself to cry until the restaurant closes. They clean up and close in record time, they’re all in their cars by 3:20. MJ and Pete go walking in the other direction, and when Patrick looks at Pete, Pete looks away. Ruined goods, Pete’s looking at ruined goods.

And Patrick doesn’t cry until they’re almost home. Everyone’s packed into Ashley’s car: Ashley, Hayley, Tyler, Josh, Sameer, Patrick. Tyler, Josh, and Sameer take the same bus home but they didn’t wanna take it, so Ashley’s dropping them off, and it’s too much for Patrick, it’s too many people, too much commotion. It’s a 5 seater car, so Josh is sitting on Tyler’s lap, and they’re all laughing about something, and Patrick’s pretending to laugh, but the only thing he can think about is the ribbon on his wrist, the name that’s going to inevitably greet him when it takes it off, he’s looking at his hands, and he swears he feel, that he can _see,_ the absent ring on his finger. It’ll always remain on him, with him, Shane will always be with him.

They have the radio on, and that’s when it happens. “We’re gonna throw it back,” The radio DJ says, “with a little Tegan and Saraaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

 _Oh fuck_ , Patrick thinks, _not-_

_“I felt you in my lungs before I ever met you! And when I laid beside you for the first time, I told you ‘I feel you in my heart and-”_

“Oh shit,” Tyler says, his eyes wide, “Patrick, are you okay?!”

Patrick’s outright sobbing. Ugly, ugly sobbing. The kind of sobbing that feels like puking, because you’re dry heaving, and you can’t breathe, and everything closes in on you. The car is too crowded, too cramped, so Ashley quickly pulls the car over to the side of the road, and she says, “Okay, everyone out. Give him some space.”

They’re parked illegally in front of a car wash, but that doesn’t stop anyone. Patrick’s head is in his hands, and he’s shrieking with sadness, and his breathing is rough, and god, everything is rushing back to him, everything Shane did to him, everything that Shane made him feel. The song is still on, and everything aches, everything absolutely aches. He’s remembering everything good, he’s remembering getting married at 19, he remembers being happy. And then he’s remembering everything after that.                               

_“You were all mine. Love me. I was yours right? I was yours right?”_

He feels a hand on his back, rubbing gently, and Hayley’s soft voice. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” she says to him, “we’ve got you, you’re okay.”

“I’m really sorry,” he chokes out, “I’m sorry, I just, I just, I-”

And as a group, they try to mend Patrick back together.

Hayley’s hand on his back is a welcomed pressure- it reminds him of his mother. And he misses his mother. They move Patrick till everyone is sitting on the dirty ground, and their feet are on the road, and they’re sitting on the curb. She’s repeating over and over again until her voice is only thing he can hear, “you’re okay, Patrick, you’re okay, breathe, come, breathe with me, it’s okay honey, breathe,” and Sameer is pressing tissues into his hands, and Tyler runs back to the car and hands Patrick a half-empty water bottle, and Josh and Ashley are trying to crack jokes, and for some reason, it makes Patrick feel better. It feels fucking foolish, being so overcome with emotion by people just being nice to him.

“I don’t deserve this,” Patrick says, when he catches his breath. He’s exhausted. His face is blotchy, his nose is red, he feels a headache coming on. He’s sure he had snot running his face. He’s not even sure what he was mumbling in between dry-heaving. But his friends, his _friends_ just shake their heads. “No,” Hayley says sincerely, “you deserve so much better.”

The air is cool. It feels, smells, tastes like 4 o’clock in the morning, when everything is silent, but when everything comes spilling out. Cigarette smoke, soapy water from the car-wash, the cars honking at them because of how badly Ashley parked. For the first time in a while, Patrick feels loved.

And when they all get back in the car, they switch the music off, and sit in silence. The windows are all open, and the breeze stings his ears, but it makes him feel fresh. The bass booms from a car nearby, the engine roars, there’s nothing in Patrick’s mind. Nothing positive, nothing negative. Just stillness.

* * *

When Patrick gets home, he’s more than tired. Like, there’s tired, there’s exhausted, and then there’s Patrick-Right-Now. Ashley and Hayley are two floors above, so they give him hugs before he steps onto his floor. Something that Patrick has noticed is that they’re all affectionate, and it’s all so strange, it’s all so weird. Patrick never used to embrace people like that unless they were Shane.

When Ashley and Hayley hug him good-bye, tell him to take it easy, tell him that they’ll see him tomorrow, he feels this gush of comfort. And when he opens the door to the apartment, he’s smiling lazily. A hot shower sounds so nice. He doesn’t have to go in tomorrow until noon, Travie (who got off work early that day) is taking care of the desserts, so he looks forward to his 6 hours of blissful sleep. Andy’s snoring on the couch, so when Patrick steps out of his shoes, he places a blanket over his body, and turns the Nick-At-Nite marathon of That 70s Show off. He used to wonder why soulmates didn’t exist in these worlds- why no one would write about them, why people wished so desperately for a world where they weren’t confined to one person. Where their wrists were bare, and they could fall in and out and back in love with someone.

Needless to say, Patrick gets it now. He pulls the ribbon off his wrist, and he sighs when he sees Shane’s name printed there. He shouldn’t be disappointed, but he’s disappointed. He shouldn’t be sad about it, but he’s sad about it. The world doesn’t owe him anything, he knows this, but it seems so unfair. For a brief moment, he wishes he were Pete, because at least Pete was _happy_ with Mikey. And then he remembers, and then he hates himself for thinking that.

Speaking of Pete, though- his phone chimes, and when he glances at it, he sees:

 

**Pete [4:16am]: I know you’re probably asleep right now**

**Pete [4:16am]: but i just wanted to say that im really sorry**

**Pete [4:17am]: For everything. I shoudltn have let them come in like that**

**Pete [4:17am]: And let them talk to you like that**

**Pete [4:18am]: ...and for not saying anything to you. I dont know.**

**Pete [4:18am]: point being: it was shitty**

 

When Patrick cries, it’s hard to get out of that mindset for a good while. Anything will set him off. This sets him off.

 

**Patrick [4:19am]: its fine :) all is forgiven**

 

Fresh, hot tears burn at his eyes. Everyone is so nice. He doesn’t understand why everyone is _so nice_. It all seems like a trap.

 

**Pete [4:20am]: Is it?**

**Patrick [4:21am]: Yeah. You didnt even have to apologize, its fine.**

 

But then, he just starts ranting. Things that he shouldn’t say at 4:30 in the morning, and _why_ is texting at 4:30 an option? It’s like that How I Met Your Mother quote: _Nothing good happens after 2am._ Especially when you’re crying and sleep deprived.

 

**Patrick [4:24am]: Its just like… really shitty that brendon did that because who the fuck says that to someone but i guess it was well deserved. Like hey gotcha, this is what you get when you divorce your soulmate. I dont even know why it hurt. We’re not together. And he can fuck whoever he wants but it feels unfair that he can moveon and im just stuck here. And i feel like this is all ill ever be. Fucking stuck. And weak and submissive and quiet and shy and shane turned me into a new person and i dont think i’ll be who i used to be again. I dont recognize myself when i look into the mirror as anything other than his. Its like, youre supposed to be the best version of yourslef when you drop someone toxic. But all i feel is shitty. And sad. And lonely.**

**Patrick [4:25am]: I hate being alone.**

**Patrick [4:25am]: I fucking hate sleeping in my bed alone**

**Patrick [4:25am]: and i know that’s what the rest of my life is going to be because no matter what, i’ll be his his name is on my wrist and i cant hide that and im afraid of him finding out if i ever be with anyone else and im so afraid of him**

**Patrick [4:26am]: and it’s all my fault. I did this to myself.**

**Patrick [4:26am]: Someone should take my phone away from me. sorry for that.**

 

Pete’s response comes a couple minutes later. Patrick rereads his own message over and over again.

 

**Pete[4:29am]: Do you want me to come over.**

**Pete [4:29am]: I dont mind listening.**

**Pete [4:29am]: I dont want you to be alone**

 

Patrick grits his teeth together. But it’s not out of anger, it’s to quiet himself from screaming.

 

**Patrick [4:30am]: im not gonna kill myself if that’s what you’re thinking. Im just being dramatic.**

**Pete [4:30am]: no it’s not that. You dont deserve to be alone. I’ll come over if you want me to. I know what it feels like to sleep it in a cold bed after a bad night it sucks**

**Pete[4:30am]: **sleep in**

**Patrick [4:32am]: are we sleeping together. I cant do that.**

**Pete [4:33am]: Not like that. Never like that.**

**Patrick [4:33am]: okay come.**

**Patrick [4:33am]: Apartment 9D**

**Patrick [4:34am]: Dont you have work at 8?**

**Pete [4:35am]: I don’t sleep a lot. I would have stayed up thinking about you anyways. You dont deserve any of this.**

**Pete [4:36am]: the hurt, i mean.**

 

And Patrick really should get up. Take a shower. Brush his teeth. Change his outfit. But he can’t. His eyes are peeled to his phone. He’s lying in his cold, cold bed alone. And Pete coming over sounds like a recipe for disaster.

He swallows hard.

 

**Patrick [4:38am]: Can i call you?**

 

Pete calls him first.

“Hi,” Pete says, “I’m on my way over, I have you on speaker.”

“Okay,” Patrick says, and his voice comes out so small, so weak, so frail. Anyone within a 5 mile radius can tell that he’s been crying. “No funny business.”

Pete laughs softly. “Yeah, no.”

The sound of a car starting, pulling out of a parking spot, fills Patrick’s ears. It’s silent. Both of them are trying to figure out what’s happening here. Why Patrick’s inviting Pete into his bed. Why Pete is leaving at 4 o’clock in the morning to...what? What are his intentions here?

“Are you… like, okay?” Pete asks. And Patrick shakes his head, even though Pete can’t see it. “No. You said you were coming over to listen, right?”

Pete nods, even though Patrick can’t see it. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Patrick says, “then I’ll tell you what happened.”

He’s underneath his covers, and he’s sleepy and warm, so he trails off a lot, his voice is soft, and broken, and his headache isn’t getting any better. “I always feel like I over exaggerate,” he starts. “Because no one takes it seriously. I know how everyone looks at me. I know how _you_ look at me. Like I did this horrible thing. Like… like how come I divorced him, why do I cover his name. Everyone thinks I’m extra. Tyler, _Tyler_ laughs when he sees the ribbon and he says I’m so _petty_ , and he’s my friend and I like him and it’s not his fault, and to an extent, he understands too because his soulmate rejected him too, but no one fucking understands. Like me celebrating our divorce was evil and stupid and offensive and disrespectful to the fucking universe, but let me tell you something.”

He pauses, and he sniffs, and he cries as he says, “What Shane did to me was evil and stupid and offensive and disrespectful. When he told me I wanted… _stuff_ I didn’t want, that’s fucking evil and stupid and offensive and disrespectful. And you know, you know… he would just do stuff to me that I didn’t like! And I couldn’t say no because I’m too nice for that and I was so fucking in love, I was so in love with Shane that it hurt and I didn’t wanna tell him no, and when I told him no, he convinced me that I wanted it, and you know what, no one wants… and he would just isolate me and make me need him! And whenever I wanted to make friends and just talk to other people like a fucking normal person, he would get mad at me! He would get mad at me and tell me that he needed me, and only me, and that I was his only constant, that without me he would die, and that’s not fair.”

He can hear cars in the background, that’s the only way he knows Pete is listening. He doesn’t know how he feels about Pete knowing everything, but it’s almost 5 in the morning, and the sky is starting to turn lighter, and he doesn’t fucking care about what Pete thinks. “He says, he said, he-- _you’re my better half, Patrick. You’re my better half._ You’re my better half? Fuck you, you’re not half of my anything, but I believed it and in some fucked up way I still believe in soulmates because I feel like- the universe, it doesn't make mistakes. This is life. There’s so much shit to worry about in the world. Nothing is concerned with ruining my life. So this is what I deserve. Even when I think I don’t deserve it, there’s a little voice inside my head telling me that I do.”

He continues. Words flow out of him without him thinking a thing about it. “I talked to people who left their soulmates. They said that covering their name helps. They said that divorcing them, getting away from them was the biggest thing. But they said that- that their soulmates fought them, that they didn’t want to let the divorce happen. That it took years. But Shane didn’t even care, and he said he knew I was going to come back.”

He says this quietly. “I have a suitcase packed. It’s in my closet. Because I’m weak. And he knows that about me.

“He laughed when I handed him the papers. Looked at me like I was a little kid. Like I wanted to- like I wanted to be a big boy. And he signed them, and he told me ‘good luck’ and then he laughed and then he _hit_ me. And he called me a stupid little _bitch_ , and he said that I was wasting my time and my money and that I was going to regret doing this.

“Sometimes I feel powerful. That… that Shane needed me. But then I think that he never really needed me. He has Brendon and Ryan. Who are quick with their words. Who are funny, because- because what Brendon said to me was funny. Who says that? Who says to someone, I can’t deliver your message to your soulmate, his dick is going to be down my throat and I can’t- who says that? He has them to keep him entertained. Maybe he never needed me in the first place. Maybe he was just stringing me along because it was funny. They’re all so funny. So _fucking_ funny. Maybe he liked seeing me cry, because he knew he was doing it. He knew he was behind it. Maybe he just liked me because we met when I was 17 and I was so impressionable that I left my parent’s home to be with him, because I was in love with the idea of love. And when I told my parents off he was just enjoying it because he liked knowing that I was under his control and that I would do anything to make him happy. That I would put myself in a fucking collar for him. To make him happy meant that I could be happy.”

He brings a hand up to his face, to wipe away all of the wetness on his face. “But I’m not meant to be happy. I hurt my family so much. I shunned them and turned them all away. All in the name of a love that wasn’t even love. It was abuse. And despite it all, I still believe in it, because without love, why are we here? Why are any of us here? If I wasn’t made to feel this way, then why was Shane’s name on my wrist when I was born? I fucked up the one thing I was meant to do. And I should live with the consequences, but it _hurts_. It hurts waking up alone, going to sleep alone. It hurts when I see Sameer’s ring. When I see Hayley and Ashley kiss. Because I never had their happiness, and I feel deprived, and I should be angry, but I’m just… disappointed. That I couldn’t somehow change Shane, make him love me. Have you ever read ‘Giovanni’s Room’?”

For the first time in a while, Pete answers. His voice is thick, like maybe Patrick’s not the only one who was crying. “Yeah.”

“There’s this one part… and I remember it because it made me realize that maybe Shane and I really are alike. It… it went something like ‘If I could make you stay, I would. If I had to beat you, chain you, starve you... if I could make you stay, I would. And one day, you will wish I had.’ and I realize that I would let _myself_ continue to get beat. I wouldn’t beat him, I would let him beat me. That I would let him continue to chain me up. Leave me helpless. And I would continue to let him decide how my body looked. If I had to do all of that to make him stay, I would. And then I realized how brainwashed I was, and I realized how fucked up that is. But sometimes… maybe that’s just the way it’s supposed to be. Everyone’s playing out the roles they were born to play. So why aren’t I?

“And now, I’m stuck. And I’m making friends, and Sameer told me that I can play guitar for their band, and they helped me when I had this huge panic attack an hour ago, and things are looking up for me, but… uh… nothing gold can stay. Like that. You can’t bend things the way I want to bend things. I got a new job, and I moved in with the only friend I have left, and I met you, and I met Sameer and Tyler and everyone, but I’m living a fucking lie. Because the name on my wrist will never go away.”

It’s still quiet where there should be the sound of the car engine, of the tires on the road. But there’s nothing, until Pete says, “I don’t… know what to say.”

Patrick laughs a humorless laugh. “It’s okay. I don’t either.”

“I’ve never told anyone this…” Patrick goes in again. “I think I should see a therapist, but it’s just a form of… self-harm for me, I think. I’m not going to cut up my arms or snap a rubber-band, but I’ll keep everything bottled in. I guess I’m just too ashamed. Of what Shane did to me, of what I couldn’t handle. So I just keep everything inside, and… and just pretend like it’s fine! Like it’s fine I didn’t go to college and culinary school even though I really fucking wanted to, even though my parents would have paid for it. Like it’s fine that my parents don’t speak to me. Like it’s fine I can’t even think about liking someone for too long before I feel guilty. Like it’s fine I can’t defend myself when someone says something fucked up to me. Like that Brendon thing. _God_ . I wish I could be violent, but then I remind myself that that’s the Shane in me, and then I think that there’s no part of me that’s really me. And then I get angry because then Shane must have part of _me_ , and my fucking name is on Shane, and he doesn’t deserve my name on his skin. I wish I could burn it off. Say ‘this is not yours to have’. And yet… the fact that someone could even have my name on their wrist makes me feel accomplished. I see MJ, and she’s happy without a name, she’s truly happy and she doesn’t need a name to be happy, and I wish that could be me. But I’m just… I just want to be happy. I didn’t know it was such a crime that I had to be punished with Shane’s abusive love. Wanting to be happy. To love every inch of myself. To not cover the name on my wrist because if I don’t, I think I’ll slice through it and make it so ugly that you can’t see it anymore. I want to be happy. I want to be able to fuck myself and not think about Shane being there. I want to fuck someone else and not think about him. I want to wake up next to someone in the morning and know that they love me for me, not the person they picture me as in their head. Docile, and submissive. I want… I want the dancing in the kitchen as we bake cookies.”

He cries harder, and some of what he says doesn’t register in Pete’s mind, because his words slur into one another. “I hated everything when I was with Shane. I hated myself and I hated my life and I hated music. I didn’t practice and I didn’t write anything because I was afraid that he wouldn’t like that. I was so afraid of doing the wrong thing. I stopped singing and I stopped dancing and I stopped being optimistic, and it wasn’t until when, until I saw the three of them having _sex_ in my fucking bed, in _my_ bed, that I realized that Shane didn’t give a single fuck about me. That everything I suffered for was for someone who saw me as nothing but a… a _sex_ _toy_. He saw me as someone to clean his house and cook for him and listen to his bullshit when he got drunk, and someone who would never say ‘no’ to him, even when they wanted to. He didn’t even have to try around me. He got so lazy. And I never demanded he try harder. That our names on each other didn’t mean jack shit unless we tried. But that’s what I get.”

Pete comes at the right time, because Patrick feels bad. Patrick feels fucking horrible. There’s relief in spilling everything out of your guts, but then you’re left feeling so hollow and so cold. Pete on the other side of the line says, “I’m outside,” and Patrick says, “Okay, I’m coming” and he walks to the door, and he opens it, and Pete’s there. Pete, holding his phone to his ear, red tinged around his eyes and his nose, and he immediately just pulls Patrick into a hug, and he’s crying, and Patrick’s crying, and he’s saying “Oh god, oh _god_ , Patrick, I’m so _sorry_.”

They hold each other in the hallway and just cry together.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to-” Patrick tries to say, and Pete shakes his head, and he says, “no, listen, I’ve been shitty too, I didn’t know, I didn’t know it was like that, no one deserves that”, and Patrick nods and he says, “I know, I know,” even though he doesn’t, he still sometimes thinks he deserves it, and Pete’s saying “I’m so glad you got out, I’m so glad that you’re- that we’re here, even if we’re fucking crying in a hallway together”, and Patrick’s laughing tearfully, and he’s saying “Come inside, I’m tired.”

They’re both in street clothes, clothes that they wore to work, and their faces are wet and red and ugly, and the sun rises when they lie down next to each other, but all of that took so much out of Patrick, Patrick who didn’t have energy in the first place. Pete, he curls in close to Patrick, and Patrick welcomes it. The hair on Pete’s head is dark, it’s oddly wavy in some places, sticky with product in others, Pete’s arms are covered in ink, and it’s so different that Patrick feels wrong having Pete so close to him, but then Pete speaks to him so tenderly, it’s sweet nothings even if it’s out of fucking pity, and they’re both messed up, and the sun barely comes up before it starts to rain outside. Against Patrick’s window, the rain beats, and when Patrick looks at his clock, it reads 5:30am.

“When you leave,” Patrick whispers. He knows Pete’s listening. “When you leave, take my raincoat. It’s on the hanger outside, by the door, it’s red. I have another one, it’ll be fine.”

For the first time in… months, it’s been _months_ , Patrick sleeps next to someone. Even if he wakes up and they’re not there to greet him.

When he goes out the door for work, showered and cleaned and free of tears, he has to take another raincoat- the red one is gone. And for a moment, that’s Patrick’s only proof that Pete was even there in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a really light-hearted and funny(?) end-note for this chapter but honestly it felt way too fucked up for me to just gloss over literally half of the chapter and pretend like it never happened :/ when i reread the last chapter and even while i was writing it i felt like patrick was a "manic pixie dream guy" for pete and that's partially bc thats just how i write, i feel like i kinda describe love as this beautiful dream, maybe? idk? ive never been in love or kissed anyone or any of that, so my view of love is just. idk!!! wow i can't put my thoughts into words. okay anyways, patrick just seemed like this person who could save pete and that's just. NOT the case. i don't wanna write a story where pete depends on patrick and vice versa. because that's just... idk!!! it was really important, for me mostly, to remember that patrick's not here to SAVE anyone, or petes not there to SAVE anyone either. because that's a mistake i've written in the past, and i just. maybe it's bc i'm a sucker for strong friendships and the power of friendship and maybe it's because i've never been in a relationship that meant that much to me and therefore i don't know how powerful love can really be. but i think the idea that only a soulmate can save you is fucked. and i think that there's so much more to life than just that, i think that friendship and having people who love you surrounding you is more valuable? and idk where i'm going with this? but yeah... anyways though! i don't wanna delete this note even tho i sound like a dumbass cause i want you guys to know where i'm coming from. this chapter was really sad. but it's going to get better!! 
> 
> also let it be known: young the giant is the best and the best don't mess and i want sameer gadhia to [redacted] me all night long, very hard and very passionately :)) ok thanks!
> 
> but really, thanks for reading and letting me share this story with you guys. maybe i'm being super dramatic but that last part took a lot out of me. maybe it's not even good writing. maybe it didn't hit people in the same way it hit me... but i'm glad i got to share it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the fact that it took me 3349324934 years to update! :( from no motivation, to writers block, to college killing me, it was pretty difficult to get this chapter out BUT i did it! so! yay!

When Patrick pulled his guitar case out from behind the junk in the closet by the front door, it felt like he had bumped into an old friend. A high school friend who you once told your whole world to, but had since fallen out of touch with. It was like a relief, seeing someone so familiar, with years of memories connected to them, in such an unfamiliar setting. But, as good as it felt, it was wrong. Because as soon as they came, they left.

...except this was an inanimate object that Patrick had the power to keep back in his life.

“Oh wow,” Andy, Patrick’s roommate says, “I haven’t seen that thing in _ages_.”

Andy hasn’t been around much, his working schedule is so different to Patrick’s, but whenever he is around, Patrick feels warm. Like he isn’t some stupid loner. He only had one (sorta) friend after the break-up, but he had _someone_.

Andy’s slipping a pair of sneakers on, but he pauses, mid bunny-ears shoe-lace method, to sit down with Patrick on the carpeted floor. “And shit’s still covered in glitter too. Remember when we were gonna start a band?”

Patrick remembers. Being 17, playing in Andy’s basement with a bunch of other guys, coming home too late, getting yelled at by his loving parents for all of the right reasons, driving to Shane’s place, 21 year old Shane’s place, and being drunk at 1 a.m on school nights. Being dizzy on love and alcohol, _so much alcohol,_ as Shane fucked into him, whispering in his ear “Just stay with me. Live with me. We’ll tell ‘em off together. You deserve freedom, baby. Shift your hips up a little.”

“I know,” Patrick attempts to laugh. “I’ll never fuckin’ forgive Kevin for that. It was already bad enough, being the only gay guy, and then I showed up with an amp covered in pink glitter?”

Andy bumps his shoulder with Patrick’s. “You know no one cared.”

And then there’s a silence, and they’re both thinking about the past. Before Patrick went AWOL and moved out of the suburbs after graduation. There were all of the parties that they attended, Patrick getting drunk, but not the type of drunk that annoyed Andy, Patrick was _funny_ , and they would walk home together, and at school they would eat lunch together, copying off each other’s homework. Patrick would go to Andy’s house, and Andy would show him his huge collection of comic books, and they would put on an album, either R &B and rap for Patrick, or metal for Andy, and they would just _read._ And when Andy would come over to Patrick’s, they would share a pie of vegan pizza on Patrick’s bed, with a bottle of lemonade each, balancing on the cardboard as they talked about their dreams. About what they wanted to do. About what show they could go to next. About their soulmates.

And now, here they are. Silent. Face-to-face with the past.

“Have you… _talked_ to Kevin?” Andy asks, and Patrick stares blankly at his guitar and shakes his head. The pink glitter that remained in the case is a cold reminder of that. Patrick can’t call him up on the phone and laugh about it. Patrick doesn’t even _have_ his number.

“Do you want to?” Andy asks, and Patrick shakes his head again. All he feels is shame when he thinks about it. Andy presses a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, a comforting touch, and he says, “If you ever change your mind, I’ll go with you. You tell me the date, and I’ll take off work.”

Patrick looks over to Andy, who’s gone back to tying his shoelaces, and he says, “Thanks… I just don’t think anything would come of it. We ended on bad terms. All of us.”

“Well, at some point, someone’s gotta say something,” Andy says, talking to his shoes. “And as shitty as it sounds, that person should be you. Build back the trust with them. Because as far as they know…”

He trails off, and glances up from his shoes to look Patrick in the eye. Patrick nods. _Because as far as they know, you’re still with Shane, and they want nothing to do with Shane._

Andy stands up, now fully ready to head out the door, and he adds, “Hope you have fun at your… breakfast restaurant band practice? I won’t question it.”

Patrick grins at that, the first real smile of the day. “Yeah, don’t question it.”

* * *

“Hi!” Sameer greets Hayley and Patrick at his front door. “We’ve got _cinnamon buns!_ ”

In terms of his work friends, things have been… calm? Patrick would have thought that Sunday would have been awkward because it’s _weird_ to just brush past things, like everything is okay when everything is definitely _not_ okay. ‘Okay’ people don’t cry about Tegan and Sara (well, he didn’t cry _about_ them…) but Patrick felt a wave of embarrassment when he walked into the kitchen. Like everyone was going to look at him differently. Pete, who was beside him as he slept, who put the red raincoat on the first peg on the jacket rack, would have looked at him with disdain. Sameer and Tyler were going to treat him more delicately, and so on.

But things were… normal. Sam and Tyler and everyone else just asked if Patrick was alright, and Patrick said ‘yes’ and then they moved on and talked about something else. And with Pete… they locked eyes and everything came rushing back to Patrick, sobbing in Pete’s arm less than 12 hour earlier, them _sleeping_ next to each other, just holding each other. And whatever stupid expression that was on Patrick’s face, Pete didn’t care. He said ‘hey, take it easy today?’ and Patrick said ‘thanks’, and when Pete said ‘anytime’, Patrick _knew_ he didn’t just mean it in that instant. The longing look, the way Pete’s touch lingered on his arm… he meant that he would be there for Patrick _anytime_.

Not that Patrick would ever do that again, it was already terrifying knowing that Pete knew… that Pete knew everything, but… it was nice to have that. To know that if he needed it, Pete would be there. He had an actual friend in Pete, someone who he could trust. Sam, Tyler, Hayley, Ashley, MJ, Pete, Josh, Andy… they were people who Patrick could trust to an extent. And that was progress, seeing how that number used to be 0.

Back to reality, however: Hayley and Patrick are standing in front of Sameer’s house, guitar cases in their right hands. To set the scene properly, it’s Tuesday morning, the air is misty and cool, dewy from the rain the night before, and Sameer’s house is purple. Sometimes, this all seems like a dream. Like Patrick’s going to wake up in his old home, and he’ll only have the hazy remnants of a purple home, platinum hair attached to an energetic girl, a familiar voice floating over it all, ‘If you ever change your mind, I’ll go with you.’. The smell of the rain. Wearing the raincoat that touched the skin of someone else.

“Oh cinnamon?” Patrick says, “Did you make it?”

Sameer laughs as he steps aside to let the two of them in, “Yeah, good joke. I just woke up. Tyler’s… somewhere, but Josh is here, he helped Jess push them in the oven. And we have coffee too!”

The inside of Sameer’s home is cozier than the outside is- the walls are lined with wedding pictures and pages of cookbooks ( _torn out_ \- it kinda hurts to look at, but it’s pretty, and Patrick guesses it’s easier to glance at a wall rather than having to skim through a book) and sheets of music. There’s a keyboard in the living room, and a sleek black bass with dirty fingerprints all over of it on the couch. The carpet is a dusty gray color, and as Hayley and Patrick make their way through the living room, a cat brushes Patrick’s feet on her way up the stairs.

“That’s Stella,” Hayley whispers to Patrick, “she’s evil. And she can smell your fear.”

“It’s true,” Sameer says, “so don’t fear her. Here, leave your cases on the couch, starting without Tyler sounds fucked up.”

And so, they do that, before following Sameer into the kitchen. There, Josh and a woman with long blonde hair who Patrick can only assume is Jessica talk as she packs her lunch. Josh sends a smile Hayley and Patrick’s way, along with a wave, and when Jessica turns back around from placing a fork in the sink, she holds a hand out. Her eyes are so blue and so friendly- Patrick isn’t used to friendly blue eyes, so this takes him aback a little, but he smiles back as they shake hands. “Hi! I’m Jessica! It’s really nice to put a face to a name.”

 _So they talk about me…_ Patrick thinks, as they shake hands. “Oh, yeah, you too.”

Jessica and Hayley shake hands too, laughing as they do since they clearly know each other, before Jessica curls in close to Sameer, wrapping her arms around his waist, leaning her head on his chest. “No word from Tyler?”

“Yeah, where _is_ he?” Hayley asks, taking a seat on one of the chairs by the island. Patrick follows her lead. He doesn’t know what to do, what he shouldn’t do... so he just watches.

Hayley puts her feet in Josh’s lap before she pulls the plate of cinnamon buns closer, and Josh shrugs before he says, in between licking frosting off his fingers, “He went on a date last night, texted he was sleeping over. But he’ll be here… I think he’s walking.”

“He should have just called me, we would have picked him up,” Hayley grumbles, grabbing a fork before she hands another one to Patrick. Patrick takes it gratefully, and he grabs a cinnamon bun for himself. “He’s such an idiot. But whatever suits him.”

“Sort of off the topic, though,” Jessica says, as she slowly detaches herself from Sameer upon noticing the time, “I forgot to mention that I’m sending in the papers today to look through death certificates under your name.”

This is a complete 180, one that surprises Hayley so much that she chokes on Josh’s orange juice. Josh just rubs at his eyes, and he sighs. “Yeah. Sounds… good. I guess. Patience, right?”

Jessica nods. “Patience.”

Reading Patrick’s confused as fuck expression, Sameer cues him in, as he pours coffee mix into the coffee machine. “Jess works at FMS, and they’ve been working on Josh’s case for… a while.”

Josh runs a hand through deep blue hair, and Patrick notices the soulmate mark on his wrist for what seems like the first time- **DEBORAH ANN RYAN.** He’s not sure why he hasn’t noticed it, or Tyler’s for that matter, but he hasn’t been looking. Because he knows he wouldn’t want people looking at his own either.

And now, Patrick’s suddenly remembering Josh mentioning briefly that he believed that, like Pete, his soulmate had died. But in this case, Josh had never met her, he just… had radio silence on her part. FMS was easy work now, thanks to social media, but now they were faced with more difficult tasks- like this. Sifting through death certificates, homeless shelter records. And that wasn’t even counting on people who were undocumented, people who had dead names, people who didn’t want any part of it all.

“I just want closure,” Josh laughs sadly. He tries to sound nonchalant, but Patrick sees through it. “I don’t even care if she’s dead, I just wanna know. So I can move the hell on.”

Hayley reaches over (even though she almost falls out of her chair) and she leans her head on his shoulder. “I know. We all do.”

It’s interesting how badly the universe could fuck up something like this. Patrick had never met anyone who’s relationship didn’t work, maybe behind closed doors they didn’t, his relationship with Shane was surely like that, but… he never knew that it was like this. People never knowing. Dating people and loving them but wondering if there’s something more. People dying. What do you do when someone dies? What do you do when you don’t even know?

The conversation mostly lets up after that, but Patrick stays silent and mostly observes because he’s mulling over everything in his head, letting it marinate. This isn’t fair, even if she’s dead Josh has the right to know, what if she’s alive and doesn’t believe and is leaving Josh in the dust, what if the name on Josh’s wrist is a dead name, what if they identify with something else and Josh would never know? Never knowing seems so scary. Staying in the dark as you see everyone you love reaching out and connecting to others.

He comes to right as Jessica leaves- she downs the rest of her coffee, pops a piece of gum in her mouth, and leans up to give Sameer a goodbye kiss before she grabs her briefcase from on top of the counter and says goodbye to everyone. The door closes behind her, Josh asks if he can mix a drink, Hayley pulls out her notebook with all of their lyrics in it, and Sameer groans. “Where _is_ Tyler?”

All 4 of them collectively hear the front door open, and Tyler shout at the top of his lungs, “HEY, CAN I USE YOUR SHOWER?”

Josh turns to Sameer and raises his eyebrows. “Okay, you _totally_ did the summoning this time!”

“It was a coincidence! You literally _Summoned,_ with a capital ‘ _S_ ’, Brendon on Saturday, this wa- was just a coincidence!”

Tyler strolls into the kitchen, looking like a disaster. His hair sticks up in all unnatural angles, there are definitely some _interesting_ white stains on his jeans, and he’s sucking on a red lollipop. “I need a shower, can I take a shower? I was gonna run home, but I didn’t wanna be late, I swear I’ll be 10 minutes tops. Also, I need sweats.”

Sameer takes one look at him, and sighs in defeat. “Only cause you stink like sex.” “Well…”

He pulls the lollipop out of his mouth and looks over to Josh. On the subject of soulmates, Tyler has a huge bruise over his own- but it reads **MARK ESHLEMAN**. “Do you want this? I’m done with it.”

Patrick watches with a wince as Tyler sticks his lollipop in Josh’s mouth, and Hayley pretends to puke. “I wouldn’t do _that_ , who knows what else Tyler has been sucking...”

Josh just shrugs and runs his tongue over the top of the lollipop to gross her out. Hayley shrieks and yells as she covers her eyes, “You guys are doing this shit in front of Patrick?! So soon?!”

Patrick just offers them a weak smile. “It’s… okay!”

Even though an unfiltered Josh and Tyler is really… not what Patrick is expecting, he’s glad that he even gets to see it, that they feel comfortable with him even though he’s quiet. Even though he waits for everyone else to make the first move.

Tyler very definitively ignores all of them, and looks over to Sameer. “Which drawer do you keep the sweats in again? I don’t wanna run into all of the kinky stuff again and-” “ _Tyler_! Top right shelf, not _left_ , get out of here before I hit you with this!”

Sameer points to Tyler with a spatula, and Tyler quickly makes his leave.

“I really hate boys. I’m so glad I’m a lesbian,” Hayley sighs, still looking over at Josh with disdain, and he shrugs again. “When you’ve had worse in your mouth, Tyler’s used lollipops mean nothing. Plus, it tastes _extra_ good.”

Hayley looks at Patrick and she says, “I am just... _so_ sorry.”

“No, seriously,” Patrick says, “I don’t mind. It’s… _funny._ I’m just a little out of it today, you guys are good.”

“Oh?” Hayley asks. “Tell Mother Hayley what’s wrong.”

She leans in closer to Patrick, as do Sameer and Josh, like he’s about to blow their minds or something. But he doesn’t have much to say. Everything in his head is the equivalent of word vomit. “Just dwelling… I spilled all of my guts to Pete the other night, so I’m just left with…”

“A bad taste in your mouth?” Josh asks, and Patrick shrugs. “Something like that.”

“Wait… backtrack a little...” Hayley says. “ _Pete_? Our _boss_ , Pete?”

Sameer and Josh share a look, like they’re remembering the eye-sex incident from Saturday night. Patrick’s face burns hot red at the memory. “Well… kinda. It’s really dumb and embarrassing.”

“Josh sticking Tyler’s lollipop in his mouth after Tyler came back from a one-night-probably-continued-until-30-minutes-ago-stand is _dumb_ ,” Sameer exclaims, and Josh hits him in the shoulder, making a pouty face with the lollipop stick still in his mouth.

“But you don’t have to tell us. Any talk with Pete sounds depressing, to be honest. Pete’s a…” Hayley trails off, trying to find the right word, before she settles on “ _Sad_ person.”

Josh nods. “I feel like there’s a constant dark cloud hovering whenever I talk to Pete.”

“Not necessarily for me,” Patrick treads lightly, and he takes a sip of sweet, sweet coffee before he continues, “If anything, _I_ was the depressing dark cloud person. We were… uhm, okay, so we were talking on the phone, and I, okay, it was the night that Brendon came in, so I was already a fucking disaster. And then I kept going… and going… and then Pete came over, and then, okay, I swear it sounds worse when I say it out-loud, but we just slept together, but-”

Sameer’s eyebrows are pulled together. “He came over?! Was it like-” “ _No_! No, not like that. We just kinda… laid down together? And then he calmed me down, and- why are you giving me that look?”

Hayley just laughs as she says, “I think it would have sounded less… _fucking wild_ , if I may, if you guys had fucked, or something. But you guys didn’t and- no kiss? Nothing?”

Patrick shakes his head.

So maybe Pete coming over was a little odd. Maybe that’s not what normal friends do… but it had been so long since Patrick had spoken like that, since he let everything he had bottled up inside be free, it had been so long since he had been close to someone like that. Conventions be damned, it felt good to have someone be there for him like that. Even if he looks back on it with slight embarrassment.

“That, my friend,” Josh says, “is weird.”

“Okay,” Sameer quickly intervenes, “but if it works for you, then it works for you. Maybe it’s a good cathartic release, I don’t know. Who are we to judge? Especially you, Mr. Me-And-My-Best-Friend-Share-Lollipops.”

Josh flips Sameer off, and finishes the lollipop with a final crunch. Hayley winces at the sound, and she mumbles under her breath “So gross.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Patrick drinks the last of his cup of coffee, Hayley finishes her cinnamon bun, and Josh tosses the lollipop stick in the trash. Sameer says, “Tyler’s already here, why don’t we get started?”

While Patrick and Sameer gravitate to the living room, Josh and Hayley run out to the garage to bring in the drum kit. Sameer plugs in his keyboard, and Patrick pulls his guitar out of his case, giving Sameer an apologetic glance when pink glitter falls from the guitar onto the floor. “Long story…”

“Does it involve performing at strip clubs?” “Unfortunately not.”

Sameer comes to sit down next to Patrick, and he hands him a sheet of music. “Tyler-“

“Yeah?” Tyler says, from the top of the stairs, and Patrick grins at Sameer when Sameer looks surprised at himself- the whole summoning thing. Tyler skips down the stairs, holding two things in each hand- one is Stella, who he cradles close to his chest, and in the other, a beige compression vest. He tosses the binder on the free couch, mumbling about his chest aching, and he flops down on the floor, at Patrick and Sameer’s feet. “Your shower pressure is fuckin’, like, out of this world, by the way.”

He looks cozy- he’s wearing a large oversized sweater on with a pair of sweatpants. His hair is still wet, and he smells _good_. Like… girly lotion wise. Sameer seems to notice this too, because he leans down to smell. “Yeah, I know. And wow, you smell really good.”

Tyler laughs, shoving Sameer’s face away from his neck. “I hijacked Jessica’s lotion, so yeah, you creep. My skin is so fucking soft right now, I think that’s why Stella hasn’t run away yet.”

Tyler’s still stroking Stella’s fur, but she looks so comfy in Tyler’s lap that Patrick’s positive she’s gonna fall asleep. “But anyways- what’s up?”

Sameer shows the sheet music to Tyler, before he hands it back over to Patrick. “Showing Ricky the chords n’ shit,” he says, before he turns to Patrick. “Tyler did up the sheet music, he’s a music major so it was slight work.”

“ _Was_ a music major,” Tyler corrects in a tired voice.

“Yeah, but you could…” Sameer trails off, giving Tyler a look. And Tyler gives him one back, before he says to Patrick, “Another story for another day.”

Patrick wonders briefly why all his friends have tragic backstories. And then he thinks about himself and _his_ story, and, oh, yeah. That makes sense.

Patrick hands Tyler back the sheet of music. “Thanks, but… I sorta can’t read sheet music. I mostly do everything by ear. The chord sheet is okay, but I don’t need notes or anything like that.”

Tyler blinks. “Wait, I thought you were drum major.”

“I was,” Patrick says. “But I just did it by ear. I know the basics, the F-A-C-E and ‘Every Good Bird Does Fly’ but… if you play it or give me the chords, I got it. I’ll get it. Just- let me prove it to you, play the guitar part, I’ll do it, or you guys can all play together, and I’ll listen in, and- I can do it! Just play it, I got it!”

Hearing himself speak so… authoritatively is so strange that he almost forgets where he is for a moment. He’s not in the kitchen, the one place where he knows best, where he was allowed to be demanding. He’s sitting on Sameer’s couch with his pink glittered guitar. It feels like being 17 again, before all of the Shane bullshit, and he beams at Sameer and Tyler when they give him confused looks. “I swear, I’ll do it! I’m a fucking moron, but I know music… and cupcakes.”

“The two most important things in the world,” Sameer points out, and Tyler throws his head back and laughs.

Josh and Hayley return with the drum kit within the minute, and when Sameer tells the two of them the plan to play the song through, to stick with his horrible guitar playing for one more time, because Patrick’s gonna do it by ear, Hayley doesn’t even question it, she just grins and says, “I _knew_ Patrick was a goddamn genius.”

Patrick has the chord sheet with him, and the lyrics at his side, but when the song starts with Sameer’s… admittedly god-awful strumming, Patrick closes his eyes and lets himself feel the guitar part. Like what he does with all of the music he listens to, he picks every part out in his head and analyzes it… except now, he’s only focused on the slightly out-of-tune-ness of Sameer’s playing. This, it comes to him like the fucking ABC’s. Especially since Hayley’s guitar is a lot more in tune, it’s easy to block it out. What’s not so easy to block out, however, is Sameer’s voice. Because… uh, _yeah_ , Tyler was right, it’s brown goodness. It’s like dipping your feet into a warm bath, but Patrick doesn’t let it consume him, not yet. Lyrics float in and out of his consciousness, _“after leaving your apartment_ … _I hit the sidewalk and this is how it starts_ … _so sure to keep you dreaming...”_

The song finishes with Tyler and Hayley bursting into laughter, and even Patrick cracks a smile… because Sameer truly can’t play the guitar. His voice definitely makes up for it though! Sameer gives Patrick a sheepish look, and when he says “Okay, you try now”, Patrick can hardly process that the same guy singing was him. Mostly because Sameer speaking and Sameer singing… are two totally, totally different things. Tyler looks a little in love too, and he exclaims, “Isn’t his voice so good?!”

Patrick nods. “So good. Okay, I’m gonna- okay, let me know when.”

He supposes it’s cheating, because he has the chord sheet in front of him, but he slides down to the floor, places the sheet on the coffee table, and looks up at Josh. “Count me off?”

And after Josh does that, he just- he just starts strumming.

His guitar is acoustic, and it’s not hooked up to any amps, but it’s quiet enough that everyone can hear him. Sameer joins in after a moment, the surprise that Patrick’s actually doing it correctly evident in the first couple of words before he lets his voice settle, _“After leaving… my apartment… I feel this cold inside me…”_ , and then Josh, and then Hayley, and then Tyler, until they’re playing together. So seamlessly that Patrick could laugh. He gets the hang of it by the second verse, so and they just _jam out_ together. There’s no other way to explain it. Sameer’s dancing a little as he sings, Hayley pretends to headbang, Tyler sings some background vocals that are totally improvised, and when the song finishes, there’s a moment where they all grin at each other, right before Josh yells “That was better than sex!”, and that felt like a very definitive mark in Patrick’s life. Like… as cheesy as that sounds.

He’ll take cheesy, though. Playing music again, enjoying it, not caring about _him…_ yeah, he’ll take cheesy.

“Round two! Round two!” Tyler chants. Josh counts them off. And Patrick starts strumming again.

* * *

Seeing Patrick smiling ear to ear was something that Pete had… admittedly never seen before.

It was weird. A good weird though. Something twists in his gut, and he feels _happy_ for him. Happy to see Patrick happy. He had seen Patrick laugh, and seen him smile, and grin, but this was something more. He wasn’t his usual stoic and grumpy (with reason) self, or closed off with his one word answers. He was shining.

“And it was- it was so much fun!” His hands move all over the place, and Pete stares at the fry in Patrick’s ribbon-clad hand that he hasn’t eaten in the whole 10 minutes that the two of them have sat down for their break. “It feels good, you know? I thought that I would never do anything with music again, but I am! And it feels good! You know? You know.”

Pete gives him a soft smile. “I know.”

They’re sitting in the Miscellaneous section, with a platter of french fries in front of them. There’s a little cup of honey mustard in front of Patrick, and ketchup mixed with pepper and lime sauce in Pete’s. This isn’t a date.

The poem next to them reads, in Pete’s shit handwriting,

 

**last night i whispered**

**a thank-you note to the**

**universe**

**for it made oceans and stars**

**equally beautiful and**

**accessible**

**for all of us; i breathe**

**the same air**

**as the people i love**

**and the people i lost**

**the particles of their existence**

**are still surrounding me and**

**this is how loneliness doesn’t**

**know how to find me alone.**

 

It’s by Noor Unnahar. Pete doesn’t know how to feel about it, as he sits with Patrick in the place where he’s been with Mikey. Because, as Pete puts his elbow on the table and rests his head on his palm, as he listens intently to Patrick as he tells him about his day, it feels like a date.

He swears it didn’t start like this though. It was nearing the end of April, so Pete had pulled Patrick to the side to talk about MJ’s upcoming birthday, and surprise party plans. But… then he threw some pumpkin squares in the oven (this is a surprise- Patrick knows nothing about it), and then he had Ashley make some fries for them, and Hayley gives Pete a very interesting look when she brings drinks to their table (Root beer for Patrick, iced tea for Pete), and then… it starts to feel like a date.

Patrick seemed to notice Pete’s expression, one that’s mostly filled with contemplation, and his happiness deflates. “Oh shit. Wow, I’ll shut up, all I did was babble for the past 10 minutes, sorry. How… was your day?”

A pause. “And thanks for the fries, too.”

He gives Pete a sheepish look, like he really didn’t mean to go on for that long but Pete doesn’t care. He would pay to hear Patrick talk, he thinks. Even though Patrick goes off on a billion tangents, and uses the phrase ‘you know’ more than anyone Pete has ever met.

He finally dips his fry into the honey mustard as Pete shakes his head, “It’s fine, I don’t care, I like hearing about you doing something with music. I, um… like seeing you happy.”

A blush appears on Patrick’s face before he dips his head to stare into his soda. “ _Oh_.”

“And anyway- it’s not that serious. I was just wondering if you would be willing to make MJ’s birthday cake, it’s the big 3-0, so we’re gonna do a huge surprise party. Well, I’m assuming that everyone else is gonna go along with it, I came up with the idea… like 20 minutes ago.”

Patrick nods, a smile reappearing back on his face. “Oh, yeah! Sure, I can do that. You’re a really good friend, planning a birthday party and all.”

Pete waves him off with his free hand. “Not really, it’s just that she’s MJ, y’know. She’s my best friend, she deserves it.”

“Yeah, but it’s still really sweet. Give yourself some credit,” Patrick says kindly, and then he grabs another french fry. “You’re really nice.”

Pete’s face burns. He’s not nice, he just... He doesn’t know, but he wouldn’t call himself ‘nice’.

But Patrick’s staring at him, and Pete’s breath catches. This always happens, he can’t handle it. He can never put his finger on what it is about Patrick, but it’s there. He’s trying to ignore it, but it’s there. He just doesn’t know what _it_ is.

“I guess…” Pete trails off, and Patrick rolls his eyes. “It’s not a bad thing to be nice.”

“It’s just a weird word… I feel too... _cold_ to be nice and-” Pete says, but Patrick quickly interrupts him with “You’re a nice person, Pete, just take that.”

Sunday hangs in both of their memories. But no one says anything. Where Pete and Mikey’s relationship was based on words and constantly talking, Pete and Patrick’s is based on the spaces between sentences. Empty yet longing stares. He doesn’t like it because he doesn’t know what the fuck do. Or what to draw from them. What do you do when you feel something and you’re not sure if the other person does too?

 _Friends_ , he reminds himself. _Friends_.

“I guess,” Pete grumbles, before he dunks a french fry into his ketchup. “You put too much faith in me.”

“Fatal flaw,” Patrick shrugs. “Putting way too much fuckin’ faith in people. Anyway, I’m changing the topic now before I slobber all over your shoulder again. So! I have a question to ask you. Regarding performing here.”

Pete raises his eyebrows. “You sure I’m nice? Because I’m probably about to prove you wrong.”

Patrick giggles. _Giggling_? Oh god. Pete’s fucked. “Let me just- let me just talk. Uh. More than I already have?”

Pete nods, urging him on. “Okay. And what if I say no?”

“If you say no, then it’s no. I can actually respect the word ‘no’,” Patrick says, and one hand moves to soothe under his ribbon, like just saying that triggered something in his mark. “Anyway… I propose the idea of letting Young the Giant perform here one day. Thursday are pretty slow at nights, right? So, we do 3 songs, just 3, on our breaks. We clean, and it’s like nothing happened! We’re really good! And it was only my first practice! And… and fuck Brendon Urie. Fuck Brendon Urie! _Fuck Brendon Urie._ ”

Pete chokes briefly on a french fry, and Patrick rolls his eyes, “ _Not like that!_ But- seriously, fuck what they think. I’m not strong, but I’m an okay actor sometimes, and this is totally me acting strong, but fuck Brendon. And Ryan! Fuck Brendon, and fuck Ryan, they stormed into your restaurant, and that’s not okay! So, why should you care if we steal their bit, especially since they stole yours?”

But this doesn’t seem like acting at all. Pete kinda likes it- this feistiness almost reminds him of Mikey.

“It’s not fair, and I know that life isn’t fair, but that’s totally not fair. And this totally isn’t to spite Brendon for saying that he’s gonna deep-throat and choke on my ex-soulmate’s dick and Ryan for cheering him on!”

Pete can’t help but laugh a little, but it’s okay, because Patrick pauses in the middle of his rant to laugh too. “I’m really sorry. _Fuck_ , I know it’s not funny,” Pete covers his mouth to laugh, and Patrick throws a french fry at him, giggling as he says, “Stop laughing at my tragedy! Okay?!”

“I’m sorry!” Pete throws his hands up to surrender, still laughing a little, “It’s just the way you said it, I guess. Anyway- I’m down. If it makes you happy, and if it gets Brendon and Ryan pissed, I’m all for it.”

Patrick’s eyes widen. “No fuckin’ way...”

Pete shrugs. “I guess I’m nice after all.”

He really doesn't have an excuse for this. It’s true- if it makes Patrick happy, he doesn't care. After Sunday, because Sunday plays in his mind over and over again, even as Patrick’s sitting in front of him, laughing and smiling, he can’t forget Sunday. Not that he _pities_ Patrick, because Pete knows what it's like to be pitied, but he just- it's like, Patrick deserves so much more than what he’s got. He knows this. Maybe he deserved what he got, maybe Mikey dying was what he deserved, but Patrick didn’t deserve what happened to him. Pete knows that.

“This isn't- this isn't about Sunday,” Patrick asks, and suddenly, he becomes… quieter? He leans in closer to Pete, his eyes lower, and he clasps his hands together. Pete hates it so much. “We don't have to. Um. Talk about it, right?”

Pete swallows hard. “I don't know. It's not about Sunday, I just- y’know. You raised some valid points. And maybe I’ve been too strict about the ‘no performing’ rule.”

Patrick looks up, and he tries to smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “Okay. Um. Yay? I thought that was gonna take more convincing.”

Pete goes back to the fries, and Patrick follows his lead. “So did I. But… um. I don't know. I guess I’m tired of being civil to Brendon and Ryan. Especially since they aren't civil to you.”

Patrick chews on his bottom lip as he taps his fingers against the Root Beer glass gently. “You’re too nice to me. Really.”

He looks up at Pete and he says, “I’m really happy that… y’know. I work here and that you took a chance on me.”

The fact that Patrick still doesn’t know how much of a catch he is makes Pete want to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, and scream. Like, _you don’t give yourself any fucking credit! Patrick, you motherfucker, you’re amazing!_

He just gives him a measly smile instead. “No problem, man. I’m glad you’re here too.”

They sit around for a while, talking about nonsense, until Hayley comes over and says to Pete, “Hi, MJ wants you? Something about pu-”

Pete’s eyes widen, and before Hayley can finish her sentence and ruin the surprise, Pete interrupts her with “AHHHH. Ah! Ah! Okay! Okay, I’m going!”

Hayley burst into laughter before she can stop herself, and Pete all but runs into the kitchen to retrieve the surprise pumpkin squares from MJ. There, she’s waiting for him, and if she has any questions about why Pete’s out of breath, why Pete made pumpkin squares in secret in the first place, and why he’s with Patrick… well, she doesn’t ask them. She just hands the plate to Pete with an exasperated sigh before turning to slice some potatoes.

And when Pete comes back to the table, pumpkin squares and frosting in hand, Patrick shrieks. _Shrieks_. “OH MY GOD!” he yells, before he clasps a hand over his mouth. Hayley looks between the two of them, before she says, “Can I get one?”

Pete grins. “Surprise? They might not be as good as the ones you make, but I tried. And yeah, take one. You gotta dip it in frosting first, though.”

Hayley slips out of the booth, grabs a pumpkin square, and dips it in frosting, before she sing-songs “Enjoy the rest of your date, boys."

And maybe Patrick’s too preoccupied with fawning over the pumpkin squares to correct her… so Pete doesn’t either. Hayley skips away, going back to attending to her tables, and Patrick smiles up at him so wide that Pete feels warm and fuzzy. “This is really cool,” Patrick gushes, and he dips a pumpkin square in frosting. “You remembered? Or did you look it up?”

Pete shrugs. “A little of both. I remembered your little- like, the recipe called for 30 minutes, but I remember the 31, and I had MJ take it out and leave it to cool for 12 minutes on the dot. That sort of thing. Is it good?”

Patrick nods, with his mouth full. He points to the plate, and then to Pete, and Pete smiles when he takes a seat and grabs a square for himself. He hasn’t smiled this much in a while. He takes a bite, after dunking it in frosting, and it’s not as good as Patrick’s, but it tastes alright. Maybe a little too dry, maybe too bitter, too plain, but Patrick looks ecstatic. “I’ve never had anyone make me pumpkin squares before, _and_ they’re edible? You’re the best.”

“What, you didn’t have any faith in me to begin with?” Pete jokes, and Patrick rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

They dine, or rather, _dessert_ in peace, save for the moment that Tyler came over, thinking that the container contained cum instead of frosting, (“What the hell?” Patrick laughs, “What, Pete just fuckin’-” and then he cuts out of that sentence with another laugh), and when Patrick’s break ends, when he stuffs a final square in his mouth, there’s a little bit of frosting on the side of his mouth. Pete reaches over to wipe it away, doesn’t even know why he does it, he could just tell Patrick it’s there, but he just- he just reaches over, and when he wipes it away, Patrick leans into his touch. And then, Pete thinks about Tyler’s stupid ass ‘cum’ line, and then there’s that mental image of Patrick sucking his thumb into his mouth, licking away cum, and-

Yeah.

Yeah, no.

Pete’s screwed.

* * *

“This is so exciting! I totally owe you one right now,” Patrick says to Pete, right before they hit the stage, “We _all_ do.”

He’s motioning to the rest of the band, who’s right behind him. Tyler, Josh, and Sameer are all in deep conversation, and Hayley and Ashley are making out. Hayley’s wrists are hooked behind Ashley’s neck, and her leg is around Ashley’s waist, and they’re against the wall, and it’s a lot. Patrick turns to look at them, before he looks back at Pete with a fake smile. “We’ll thank you later, I think everyone is... er... busy.”

It’s Thursday night, and Young the Giant are about to perform. Pete can’t be upset about it, though- Thursdays are pretty slow, so the section was easy to close, and they _did_ do all of the work. Plus, Sameer’s wife brought her friends along, so they earned a couple more customers than they would have had before. _Plus_ , Pete made a promise to Patrick, and for some reason, that means more than it would if he had made the promise to someone else.

“Nah, it’s cool,” Pete says easily, “I’m sure it’s gonna be really good, so.”

“You’re not gonna listen?” Patrick asks, and when Pete shakes his head, Patrick crosses his arms. His guitar is swung to the back, so it’s not in the way, and he says, “Why not? We’re good! If you don’t do it for us, do it… for, uh, I don’t know. Do it for the songs, how about that?”

“Do it for the _songs_?” He humors Patrick a little, but Patrick doesn’t take the bait. He just sighs. “Well, you’re totally gonna miss out, but I guess you have a lot of work. Thanks for letting us play.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” Pete says to him, and Patrick gives him a shrug. “Well. I _am_ thankful.”

Pete retires to his office after that. Even though he has nothing to do. Here’s why:

  1. The mental image of Patrick playing the guitar is enough to probably make his knees buckle
  2. He’s not sure if he can deal with Patrick _singing_ too, even if it’s just background
  3. Admiring Patrick, someone who makes him _feel_ things again, feels too much like cheating. His wrist aches at the thought of Patrick smiling.
  4. ??? Patrick
  5. Patrick!



He leaves the office door open, though, just to… just to, you know, listen without having to watch it. Sameer’s speaking into the microphone, and Pete gives a half smile at his blank computer screen when he announces, “I just wanna give a _huge_ thanks to the guys over at Moon Cafe for making this happen. Brendon and Ryan, this is for you,” before they start their first song.

It’s sweet and calming, clearly a love song, but Pete’s not really in a headspace to think about Patrick, mostly because he’s thinking about Mikey. Nothing new. He envisions Mikey sitting next to him at a table, videotaping the performance on his phone, and whispering to Pete, “They grow up so fast”, before laughing. Imagines Mikey talking Brendon and Ryan down so fast the night that they stormed in. Imagines Mikey pulling him back down to bed when Pete got up to go comfort Patrick. “No, he’s fine, stay with me,” Mikey would murmur into Pete’s hair, and Pete would stay.

MJ shows up at his door when the second song’s chorus hits, _You’ll drive in my car, just tell me we’re going somewhere where the sky meets the sky and all these people with small dreams are looking up at the big screen,_ and she leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re not even watching?”

Pete shakes his head. “Don't really _have_ to. I can hear it from here.”

“Can we talk about Patrick?” she asks, out of the blue. But it's really not out of the blue. It's been an ongoing _thing_ since Sunday, when MJ met Pete at work wearing the same old clothes he wore the day before, and wearing a raincoat that he didn’t own. “I think we should talk about Patrick.”

“Later,” Pete presses the heel of his hands over his closed eyes. “Later. I know it's fucked up.”

Hopelessness is all he feels. Like being stranded on an deserted island. Patrick's ocean blue eyes surround him. And he's so lost. With no way to go home, because his home is dead. _Has_ been dead.

And it feels a little ridiculous, being 31 and having a goddamn _crush._ Because that’s what it is beneath all the bullshit. A crush. Nothing will come out of it, because it's built on daydreams. But he _wants._

He hears MJ come closer by the squeak of her sneakers, and her gentle and cool fingers pry at his hands. “I’m not going to call you ridiculous because I can understand where you’re coming from, but please believe me when I say that it's not fucked up?”

He looks into honey eyes filled with concern and he sighs. “It _is_ fucked up.”

“It’s _not_ ,“ she stresses, “you don't deserve to be alone forever when being with someone is what makes you happy. Who said all crushes were hopeless? You forget that we see the way that Patrick looks at you too.”

This goes in one ear and out the other. “Yeah, well.  I can never give him what _Shane_ never gave him. That has unhealthy written all fuckin’ over it. It's just me being horny, I’ll get over it.”

MJ laughs. “You’re thinking without your dick for once?”

Pete doesn't laugh back, just crosses his arms, and MJ gives an exhausted sigh. “Okay, sorry. I guess you are right. But just… keep that in mind, okay? That maybe you and Patrick might not be on two opposite sides of the spectrum after all. Also, _please_ come out, at least for the last song. Be a supportive boss. You _know_ you wanna listen.”

From what he can hear, they’re on a different song, the 3rd one. And if it's just one…

He wills himself out of his chair, giving MJ a small smile when she cheers, “Ah, yes! Victory!”, and when she and Pete walk through the kitchen and emerge into the restaurant area, Ashley gives MJ a high-five. “You got Grumpy out of his office, yes bitch!”

Pete glares at her because of the nickname, but all she does is pat his face lovingly, giggling quietly as she says, “ _Grumpy_.”

One of these days, Ashley and MJ will kill Pete dead. As the two co-head chefs, all they do is annoy Pete until he literally wants to die… but he loves them so much, they’re like his sisters, so he deals.

The third song ends, and then Tyler’s saying, “This last song is called _Apartment,_ and it’s super fuckin’ emotional, so grab your fuckin’ tissues!” “Oh my god, Tyler, stop cursing!” “Oh shit, sorry!” " _Tyler_!”

Pete tries not to think about the small kids who are sitting a couple feet away. There’s a familiar laugh being projected by the microphones, and when Pete looks up, it’s Patrick. The two of them lock eyes, and Patrick gives Pete this smirk. Like, ‘hey, I told you you couldn’t resist _me’_ , even though it’s probably more of a ‘hey, I told you you couldn’t resist _the band_ ’.

Pete just raises his hand up to wave, but Josh is already counting them off, so Patrick’s next move is to strum. Pete’s always found musicians hot, Mikey played the bass, but this is just plain sweet. Patrick’s paying attention to Tyler and Josh, making sure he’s not messing up, and Sameer’s rich voice brings Pete back to shitty reality before spiraling him back into his horrible headspace. _“After leaving my apartment, I feel this cold inside me. It howls away all through the market, it calls your name…”_

There’s the pulling himself out of bed, on Sunday morning, and slipping on a pair of shoes before scribbling a note to MJ- **‘going out. Meet u at work’.** There’s raw aching, like everything is wrong. Like he can’t shake the feeling that he did something horrible, that he had to go help. A nagging feeling in him, calling over and over again, _Patrick, Patrick, Patrick, Patrick…_

It’s almost like Sameer can read his mind. It’s almost like-

Patrick’s no longer glancing over to Tyler and Josh, he’s paying attention to _Pete_. Like maybe he feels it too.

 _“On my way to your[apartment](https://youtu.be/WPUcP3k3CMY),” _ Sameer sings,  dancing in his spot as he does it, Sameer’s dances are the best thing in the world, _“I write for fear of silence, you carved a boat to sail my shadow, now I walk alone.”_

He can imagine Mikey by his side, laughing at Pete. “What,” Mikey would smile behind his hands, trying to mask his laughter, “you like _him_?”

Pete would frown. “What’s wrong with Patrick? Patrick’s cute, and he’s _alive_ , for one thing.”

And Mikey would wrap his arm around Pete’s shoulder, and playfully bite the lobe of his ear as he would whisper, “He’s not _me_.”

Mikey had always been possessive. Not in a scary way, it was always more funny than anything, but whenever someone would give Pete a double-take, or make a comment, Mikey would glare at them… and then when they got back to the apartment, Mikey would _show_ Pete how he was his.

 _“I bet she couldn’t fuck you like this,”_ he would groan as he dropped down on Pete’s dick. _“I bet he couldn’t fuck you like this,”_ he would laugh against Pete’s shoulder blades as he fucked him on his hands and knees into the mattress. _“You’re mine,”_ he would whisper, _“you’re mine,”_ he would moan, _“you’re all fucking mine.”_

Pete’s head burns with memories. Of Mikey, of Sunday morning, parking his car because he couldn’t listen to Patrick’s voice echoing in his car, on speakerphone. Couldn’t stand driving down the lonely roads with Patrick sobbing over the speakers. He remembers parking, he remembers bringing his phone to his wet face, he remembers being cold. He remembers walking alone. The streets were bare. There was only Patrick’s voice in his ear.

_“I hit the sidewalk and this is how it starts. Hide in a raincoat when things are falling apart…”_

Not being able to sleep, watching the sun rise from Patrick’s window, his arm draped over Patrick’s side… he remembers rolling out of the bed when the clock struck 7, and he remembers putting his shoes back on, remembers grabbing the red raincoat from the hook, remembers making eye contact with Patrick’s roommate, who was sitting in the kitchen, and not knowing what to say. Because what do you say. What the fuck does someone say?

Patrick sings with Sameer on the ‘raincoat’ line, and they’re still making eye contact, and there’s something there, if Pete can reach in and find it. If Patrick talks to him. If they don’t dance around everything.

“I’m gonna… go…” Pete says to MJ and Ashley, tearing his eyes away from deep blue. “I need some air. I’ll go walk Steve or something, I can’t be here. You guys’ll watch the place?”

MJ and Ashley exchange glances, before they shrug. “Whatever you need to do, boss,” Ashley says to him, before she leans in to give him a side-hug. “Just don’t do anything… stupid.”

Stupid is keyword for ‘drink at a bar until you don’t remember your name and hook up with someone who’s running away from something too.’

Pete shakes his head. “Home. Promise.”

The rest of the song continues as he grabs his jacket, picks a pack of cigarettes from the inside of his desk along with the lighter,, and when Sameer belts out, _“Cause sooner or later, this is bound to stop! Come on, let’s savor what we’re falling for!”_ , his voice hits the back of Pete’s neck as he steps outside the restaurant doors.

He fishes the inside of his jacket for the pack of cigarettes, he doesn’t really even smoke, Mikey did, these were the kind that he would purchase, but right now he just- he would do anything to have Mikey by his side. When Pete lights it, when he leans against the dirty wall, when he breathes in, the taste of Mikey is suddenly stale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sameer gadhia saved me, so jot that down! "apartment" is literally my FAVORITE young the giant song, i included a link to the song in the fic but you can just search it, but! it's amazing!! and it literally CALLED to me like i had to write peterick to it, and. welp. this kinda went perfectly!! if you can PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEE check it out!! its such a good song! got me all emo and shit!!!
> 
> please leave a comment if you enjoyed!!! even if its to tell me that ur favorite character is hayley, to which i say SAME! (actually, im stuck with either hayley, sam, or tyler. lol)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!! just a heads up this chapter is kinda short? (related to the other ones, this one is still a solid 6k) next chapter is gonna be long (MJ's birthday its lit im already making a playlist) and so this is kind of a filler except. lmao. something important happens. just! idk! i'll shut up!
> 
> update 12/13: LOL!!!!! finals are fucking killing me :))))))) i might not update 4 a while, sorry :/

Seeing as the date was April the 27th, Pete only had… well _, less_ than a week to figure out what the hell to do for MJ’s birthday.

 _“You know I don’t want to do anything,”_ MJ had told him, on the walk to work when Pete had subtly brought the subject of parties up. _“I don’t want to celebrate 30. Ugh._ **_30_** _.”_

Pete shoved at her shoulder jokingly. _“What, are you calling me old?”_

And then MJ blinked at him. “ _Uh_. _**Y** **eah**_?”

But Pete is a pretty stubborn guy (clearly- he’s still not budging about the Patrick thing, which is a whole other issue in and of itself), and he loves celebrating birthdays. Not so much for himself, because living without Mikey is honest-to-God the fucking worst, but he loves his friends. Loves the birthday cake… the loud music… the getting drunk and then getting sad and nostalgic and emotional...

And MJ is his best friend. So… MJ was getting a party.

The only problem was planning. He had already gotten Patrick’s word about the cake, but there was everything else to worry about. Location, food, alcohol, music, _when_. MJ was clubbing on Saturday with her aco-ace support group friends, but that still left everyone else who was working the worst shifts in history over the weekend. Finding someplace to party on a Monday night after 11pm? Forget about it.

“ _Okay_ ,” Ashley had said to Pete when he begged her for help, _“I can’t help much, seeing as how I literally run your kitchen, but I know that we can go up on the roof of our complex if we just ask. Are you still iffy about heights?”_

Pete shoved his hands in his pockets and swallowed hard. “ _Maybe_?”

_“Well, if you want music, then you just have to deal. There’s no way we can play loud music inside, you get me? But I can’t be home to decorate, and- shit, I have the stove on, okay, can you just talk to Hayls?”_

So, Pete talked to Hayley. To no avail.

“ _Haha_!” she laughed, _“Good fucking joke. Pete, I love you so much, but I have finals in two weeks and I’m already behind on my assignments. Talk to Tyler and Josh maybe?”_

When Pete went to go talk to Tyler and Josh in the breakroom, the two of them were heavily making out, and Pete was _not_ going to get in the middle of that. So, he went with his next best bet.

However, Sameer turned out to be no help either _. “Sorry, boss,”_ he said, _“I really don’t have a decorative bone in my body. Why don’t you ask Ricky? Isn’t he living in Ash and Hayley’s complex too?”_

And so, he was asking Patrick… except, this was a little different.

“Okay,” Patrick says, as he licks his plastic spoon free of any chocolate ice cream. “I know we already had the discussion about you being really nice, but taking me out for _ice cream?_ Come on, what’s really going on?”

They’re out for ice cream. And Pete paid. And Pete can’t even really come up with a good excuse. He saw Patrick, went up to him with the intention of flat-out asking, said _“hey, you want ice cream? It’s on me”_ instead _,_ and Patrick took off his apron.

Pete gives Patrick a sheepish look. “One of these days I’ll actually take you out without there being… uh…”

The look Patrick gives Pete back is a tired one. “An ulterior motive? Pete, I’m cool with it, I’m used to it. What do you need?”

And now Pete feels like an asshole. He knows he should have just treated Patrick like he did with everyone else, just pulled them aside and asked them at work, but Patrick was Patrick, and apparently that meant something to Pete. Stupid fuckin’ crush. He would hit himself over the face if Patrick weren’t already staring at him, expecting an answer.

“Feel free to say no,” Pete says, and Patrick raises his eyebrows as he continues, “but do you think you can help me decorate for MJ’s party? It’ll be on the clock if you’re worried about that, and I’m just… afraid of heights, and I’m afraid of going close to the ledge, and I don’t wanna be alone, and I’m shit at planning things in general, and I just… need help.”

Patrick hums with his spoon in his mouth. Pete thinks it’s a ‘yes’ but he’s not that sure. So, he continues to babble. “It’ll be the day before Slam so we can all sleep in after, and… and you weren’t my first choice, by the way, but everyone else said no, and- okay, not that you were my _last_ choice, but I didn’t wanna bother you, and- okay. I’m gonna shut up now.”

“Pete,” Patrick laughs softly, “it’s okay.”

He rests a hand on Pete’s shoulder, and Pete blinks down at it. It sounds fucking sad, but he’s comparing _fingers_. Thinking about Mikey’s long and slender ones working him open. And now he’s thinking about Patrick’s, and how good it would feel to have-

“I thought,” Patrick begins to say, interrupting Pete’s thoughts, “it was gonna be worse, like you were gonna tell me that I don’t get Thursdays off anymore. I’ll help, definitely! You’re afraid of heights?”

He brings his hand down, to get another spoonful of chocolate-with-rainbow sprinkles. Pete’s Rocky Road is slowly melting, but he takes a measly bite as he says, “Yeah, I hate airplanes too. I don’t know, I hate… roofs, and stuff, I guess. But I wanna make this party good, I want the music to be good, so I’ll just take one for the team.”

“Who’s gonna DJ?” Patrick asks, and when Pete tells him that Travie will, Patrick goes into a full rant about loving Travie’s taste in music, but how he deathly disagrees with his opinion that _My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy_ is better than _Graduation._

 _This is easy_ , Pete thinks. _Being friends is easy_.

He can do this and it be totally fine. Walk to get ice cream and talk about music and he doesn’t have to think about anything else. Like the way that Patrick licks his spoon, or the gold in Patrick’s hair underneath his hat. He doesn’t have to think about Patrick’s white skin underneath all the layers of clothes, or think about how Patrick would taste right now. Chocolatey and cold and then Pete’s tongue would warm them up and they could be that couple who kisses in the middle of the street, and in this beautiful and dark and twisted fantasy, Mikey never existed and Patrick doesn’t wear a black ribbon around his wrist, and his mark says Pete’s name, and there would be no Shane, and everything would be sweet and crisp and good.

Sex and love and want and passion race through Pete’s veins. He feels so fucking dirty. He doesn’t know if he wants to push Patrick away and tell him that he’s batshit crazy and that he should stay away, that he wants something that he can’t have so bad, or if he wants to pull Patrick down with him, pull him down onto his bed or maybe right there in the fucking street and show him that he’s worth more than he got.

In his mind, he scoffs. Like he’s much better than Shane. Who really _is_ Patrick to Pete? Someone to fill a fucking void. Maybe that’s all love really is in the end of it all, then. People needing other people because they’re lonely. Maybe Patrick looks at him that way because he’s someone new. If only Patrick knew that he was covered in scars and issues up ‘til here. That he can’t do anything for Patrick besides give him a lousy orgasm and some false hope.

 _I’m not nice_ , Pete thinks. _I’m everything but nice_.

He can’t even listen to Patrick speak, because he’s too concerned with himself.

“Do you know her favorite color?” Patrick asks suddenly, and Pete blinks. “What?”

“MJ,” he says, “what’s her favorite color? Sorry I just switched that up, but my mind kinda- it’s for the cake, and we were talking about the DJ and the party, and then I just remembered.”

“Oh,” Pete says, “her favorite color is red.”

“Oh, really? Wow, mine too!” Patrick exclaims.

Patrick’s too… he’s not innocent, Pete knows this, but he’s… untouchable. Pete won’t let his unclean and lustful hands touch him. In his mind, Pete will ruin him worse than Shane did and nothing MJ or Ashley or even Sameer says can convince him otherwise.

So he’s in this weird purgatory of _wanting_ so bad but refusing to do anything. Because he knows it will end horribly. Because _this_ is what Pete does. Ruin everything he touches. He’s the reason Mikey is dead.

He’s the reason.

He pulls himself together for this, though. Patrick’s looking at him like he’s trying to figure out what’s eating him, and so Pete gives Patrick a small smile to throw him off course. “Oh. Mine is red too.”

“You know I’m good at reading emotions, right? I can tell when someone’s angry and upset and disappointed…” he says, and when Pete frowns, Patrick brushes his hand with Pete’s, and runs his thumb over the smooth surface of the back of Pete’s hand. He’s thrown out his ice cream container sometime in the midst of Pete being emo. “You totally don’t have to talk about it, but… well, you were there for me, so… I can be here for you too.”

“No,” Pete squeezes Patrick’s hand, letting himself relax a little. “It’s just dumb. I’m sorry. I’m being a shitty listener.”

“Not shitty,” Patrick says. “We all have off days.”

And then he looks down at their intertwined hands; “Do you... Um, need your hand back?”

Pete’s still holding his ice cream cup with his other hand, and he realizes that he needs both hands to eat. But he just tosses the container in the nearest trash-can and shakes his head. “Not anymore. Why, do you-“

Patrick shakes his head. “No. Um. Just. Yeah, this is fine.”

They look at each other, searching for a sign that the other one is hesitant. But there’s none. And then Patrick’s leaning in a little closer to Pete, and then they’re walking down the street holding hands.

“I, uh, I-“ Pete tries to spit out, but he’s mostly freaking the hell out, “I really appreciate you helping me out and stuff. I don’t know if I said that already, but I do.”

“It’s no problem,” Patrick says, “I like MJ, she deserves a birthday party. Everyone deserves a good birthday.”

“Yeah,” Pete says, “I hate my birthday, mostly because I hate the thought of growing old but… y’know, I like other people’s birthdays. Mine’s in June, when’s yours?”

And Pete can physically feel Patrick tense up. “I… uh… I don’t know.”

Pete turns his head to gawk at Patrick. “What?!”

Patrick is clearly lying through his teeth, and sometimes Pete really thinks that Patrick’s got him totally and completely fooled, but, no, this time he can _tell_ that Patrick’s lying about this. “You don’t… know when your _birthday_ is? Patrick, dude. C’mon.”

Patrick looks at the ground, avoiding Pete’s eyes. “I, um. Yeah. It’s dumb, I don’t want to tell you.”

“How is your birthday dumb?” Pete asks, “it’s the day you were _born_ , there can be nothing stupid about it. What, were you born on Leap Day or something?”

Patrick shakes his head. “No, it’s just… my birthday is today. But listen, it’s-“

Pete shrieks, his eyes widening as he yells, “ _What_?! Today?! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

Patrick’s face flushes bright red as he hisses, “Pete, shut the fuck up! Just don’t say anything, okay?! I don’t want to celebrate it. I just want to pretend that today is just like any other day, it’s not-“

Pete’s staring at him, pure shock written on his face, shocked enough to stop them in the middle of the street. “ _Patrick_ ,” he says breathlessly, “today’s your birthday! How old are you?”

“27,” Patrick groans, and he pulls on Pete’s hand so that they’re walking again. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? I didn’t want—everyone’s working late, and Andy won’t be home, and it just, it’s my first birthday in almost a decade without _Shane_ and I just feel embarrassed and stupid and I don’t want to celebrate my stupid fucking birthday when there’s no one to fucking celebrate with me, okay?!”

“Okay,” Pete says softly, trying to calm Patrick down because he’s never seen Patrick that angry before. Patrick shifts a little away from Pete though, his eyes wide like he can’t believe he did that either. His eyes wide like he’s waiting for Pete to lash out at him. But he doesn’t, he just sighs. “I’m being a dick right now, sorry.”

“No,” Patrick says, “ _I’m_ sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t even- it’s fine, MJ’s yelled at me a lot harsher about a lot less. But seriously, I didn’t know it was like that, I swear I’ll have everyone stay back for a couple minutes to cut a cake. At the very least, c’mon, Ricks, everyone deserves cake on their birthday.”

Pete looks at Patrick, wanting to pull him closer, and when Patrick looks back, searches his face for anger, he lets himself curl in, until they’re side-by-side again. Patrick cracks a small smile and says, “And who’s making the cake? Me?”

Pete _grins_. “No, me. What, you think I can’t work my way around a recipe? I’m sure I have something saved in my computer that I can work with.”

Patrick raises his eyebrows. “If the recipe looks good… I’ll _consider_ it. I’m not saying yes, by the way.”

Pete would raise both hands to surrender but since one hand is already occupied, he just raises the one and salutes Patrick. “Yes, sir. Whatever you say.”

And the satisfied smile on Patrick’s face as he squeezed Pete’s hand again… yeah, that was worth everything to Pete.

* * *

When they stepped into the restaurant, now so familiar to Patrick, with Pete’s soulmate’s handwriting on the walls, with Gabe’s voice as he asked the million dollar question, “Do you have a favorite poet?”, with the miscellaneous wall that Tyler was constantly adding to, Pete and Patrick were still holding hands.

Even though the both of them very clearly heard Hayley exclaim “What in the _fuck_?!” as they passed the Pablo Neruda section.

And they continued to hold hands, because friends can do that, right? Hold hands as they walked into Pete’s office together. Passing through the kitchen as they talked about the birthday cake that Patrick was still on the fence about, Pete caught MJ’s gaze… but she didn’t stop them, or say anything. And he remembers her words in his head so clearly. _“Take your time.”_

But when they went to close the door, there were 3 of them in the room.

“Hi,” Tyler says, closing the door for them with his free hand. He’s holding _something_ in the other one. “The only reason I’m not questioning this new development-” he’s talking about Pete and Patrick “-is because something happened, and- Patrick, you’re gonna wanna sit down for this.”

Patrick raises his eyebrows (he does this a lot) “Wait, why? What’s behind your back?”

He turns to Pete and says in a warning tone, “If you told him…”

Pete throws his hands up. “I swear I didn’t! You were with me, I didn’t-“

“Shut up!” Tyler says to the two of them, and the pair stop bickering. Mostly because Tyler looks serious, and Patrick’s never seen Tyler serious. Not like that. He’s seen Tyler be self-deprecating and talk about sad things, but it’s always with an air of humor. But he looks dead serious.

“Something… something happened, okay? This guy brought this gift in for you, and he had, he had your _name_ on his wrist, and-”

Patrick pales. “ _What?_ ”

And Pete repeats him, but louder and angrier. “What?”

Because, no, fuck that. _Fuck that._ Fuck Shane coming into his fucking restaurant to wreak havoc, to try to stir the pot. There’s this blinding white anger that seeps through Pete’s body and crackles in his veins and he doesn’t know whether he wants to punch something or start screaming, but Shane isn’t here, it’s only Patrick and Tyler, and he knows that won’t help anything. Still-

“Tyler, what the fuck happened,” Pete asks, with his fists clenched at his sides. He tries doing those deep breath exercises, but they fall short. He’s fucking pissed.

Patrick stares at Pete’s fists and he swallows hard. Between that, and Shane, and the gift that Tyler placed on the desk, the shitty ‘happy birthday!’ wrapping paper and the way that Shane’s stupid pet-name for him was scribbled haphazardly on the only flat surface. **_‘PAT’_ **. Like he knew exactly how to get under Patrick’s skin, under the black ribbon, until he could feel him all over again. His mark itches, but Patrick doesn’t even bother to touch it.

“Pete,” Patrick brings a hand up to his forehead, like he’s trying to ease a headache, or something, and he pleads, “Just please calm down, you freaking out is going to make me freak out and-“

He looks over at Tyler, who still looks like he doesn’t know where to start. “Just… what happened?”

And then Tyler explains. He plops himself down in Pete’s chair as he begins his tale. Meanwhile, Pete forces himself to calm down a little, even though that disgusting feeling in the pit of his stomach not only remains, but grows the longer Tyler’s explanation goes on. He glances at Patrick at moments, maybe to see if he’s crying, or if he’s glassy-eyed, but Patrick was nodding along, like he was used to everything Tyler was saying. He’s sitting on the edge of the desk, closer to Tyler than to Pete, and the only way Pete could tell that they weren’t just having a normal conversation was from the way that Patrick’s nails were digging into his jean-clad thighs. So hard that his fingers were turning white.

“-and then after he grilled me about the details of you, as I said, working from home and just bringing shit in, he started asking me about… like, your friends, and if you were close to anyone, and I kept being like-“

He reverts back to the breathy and airy voice that he said he used to talk to Shane, with the intention that he would come off clueless. “‘Oh, sorry, sir, I really have to get back to work, but he’s a tooooooootal loser! I swear, if you didn’t describe him to me, I wouldn’t have known who you were talking about!’”

“How’d he describe me?” Patrick asks.

And that’s Tyler’s first pause since he started his rant. He looks over to Pete like he’s worried about what he’s about to say, and upon seeing Tyler’s expression, Pete gives him a similar one. Patrick clears his throat, since he’s waiting, and when Tyler glances back, Patrick says “Just tell me. I know it’s not coming from you, I’ve probably heard worse. From him.”

“Um…” Tyler says, wringing his hands together. He scrunches his eyes closed, and he says in a rush, “he basically just said thatyouwerefat. WHICH, okay, I’m not fat-shaming, but he is _not_ in any position to be judging, so-“

“What else?” Patrick interrupts him, and Tyler, who had reopened his eyes, squeezes them shut again. “Um. That you were balding! But I swear that’s it! And he called you short, but that’s actually true, so I don’t mind telling you that. Seriously, you’re short. It’s cute!”

Whatever Tyler’s playing at, trying to make Patrick laugh, it’s not working. In fact, it’s crashing and burning because Patrick just stares at Tyler blankly. It’s not like Pete can really blame Tyler, because… well, it’s pretty fucking shitty to hear that you’re ‘fat and balding’ from someone, nevertheless your fucking soulmate. Pete wouldn’t want to be the bearer of bad news either.

“Um… I don’t think you’re fat?” Pete offers, and Patrick sends him the nastiest glare in the world. “I really fucking hate liars.”

“Anyway!” Tyler quickly interrupts, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of them, “I think I threw him off, though! Which- which is good, right? Because-“

“I knew…” Patrick begins to say, before he bites down on his tongue and tilts his head so that he’s staring at the ceiling. And he just takes a deep breath, willing himself to settle down. “ _I_ _knew_ that this was going to happen. I was fucking stupid to think for a second it wasn’t.”

“Patrick, if you cry _I’m_ going to cry, and I don’t wanna cry,” Tyler says, “and I don’t do the hugging thing, so we just gotta do this shit from a distance, but… uh… things will be okay?”

Pete winces at Tyler’s attempts at making Patrick feeling better.

“Thanks,” Patrick says with a limp shrug, “but they won’t.”

“No,” Tyler says, “trust me, they will. With… Patrick, you motherfucker, you’re gonna make me cry for real. But with Mark, y’know… it got better…”

Tyler is like Pete in a lot of ways. This is just one of them- the silence surrounding their soulmates. Pete never talks about Mikey, Tyler never talks about Mark. It’s to be expected, just like the sky being blue and the grass being green. So, for Tyler to bring him up… even Pete’s a little taken aback.

“I thought…” Patrick trails off, waving his hands around in an attempt to conjure up words. “He, y’know. Didn’t accept you for you and that was it.”

“No,” Tyler laughs, “I fuckin’ wish it was like that. It was more like… there was something wrong with me because I didn’t want to… y’know, spend thousands of dollars that I didn’t have, just to please someone else. But he saw it like it was my duty, because we were soulmates and _I_ was depriving _him_ of something. So he would follow me around and show up at my job and just yell at me like a fucking lunatic.”

Pete feels extremely out of place in this conversation and oddly guilty, because his soulmate was perfect, everything about the experience was a dream, even if it ended in tragedy, and here are two people that have had the complete opposite. But he just makes himself comfortable in his spare chair, and...listens on.

“And then you- what? Left your job? So he wouldn’t find you?” Patrick asks, in a timid voice, and Pete bites the side of his cheek as to not start begging for Patrick to not even think about it. _It’s not your decision, you self-centered asshole_ , he chastises himself. But he can't help it. Kinda like what his mother would say to him whenever Pete felt bad about going on dates, before Mikey was in the picture. _“You can’t help who you like, Peter. But you love who you were meant to love.”_

Tyler nods in response to the quitting his job statement. “Well… yeah… but I don’t think- okay, no, I won’t say that, because you should be somewhere where you’re comfortable. But… people just get tired. Especially when they stop giving a fuck about you. People stop caring.”

Patrick points to the gift on the desk wordlessly.

Tyler winces. “Yeah, but. I don’t think that’s… a gift? I don’t think that it’s coming from a genuine place. I mean, no one who’s being genuine calls their soulmate fat, okay? That’s fucked up.”

Patrick lulls it over in his mind, before he sighs, bringing his hands to his face to bury his head in them. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says, words muffled against his palms, “maybe I just. I don’t know. I miss being cared about. Or wanted. Or loved. Or something.”

 _I WANT YOU_ , Pete wants to say to him, to pull his hands off his face, to hold them in his _. I want you so bad that sometimes you’re the only thing and the only person I think about._

“Yeah, but you don’t want ‘love’ from that jackass,” Tyler says, and Patrick gives another weak shrug. “Not… not _love_ but maybe some acknowledgement would be nice, or-”

Patrick stops talking when he sees the look on Tyler’s face- total disgust for that idea. “Ricks… _no_. He called you _fat_. And said you were _balding_. There’s no- I mean, that’s not…”

“Can’t be mad at him for saying the truth, right?” Patrick offers weakly, and Pete pipes up for the first time in a while. “Untrue!”

Tyler looks over at him like he’s seen a ghost. “Wait, you’re still here?! Wow, I forgot… I think it’s cause you had nothing relevant to say.”

Patrick drops his head in his hands, but this time it’s to laugh. Tyler grins as he cheers, “Yay! A genuine laugh!”

And Pete mostly crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.

But it’s true… Pete has nothing to add to this, and if it weren’t too late, he would have left the room. It feels uncomfortable, like it’s challenging everything Pete’s ever seen in his life. He’s heard of bad stories, but they’ve always made things work out. His parents were, and still are, in love. His sister is still married. Everyone… everyone Pete knows besides a select few, Josh, and Tyler, and Patrick, are happy. It’s nothing post-modern, it’s not like his mind is getting fucked because he just realized time is an illusion or some shit like that… but it’s throwing him into such unfamiliar territory. Where people bond over their horrors of something that Pete loves so much. Pete loves _love_ so much. He loved his soulmate. That love was something sacred… something beautiful and untouchable and something that Pete could never, ever forget.

And here Patrick and Tyler are, talking about how much they wish they could get away from the one thing that saved Pete’s whole life.

“Love is so fucking overrated anyway,” Tyler says, “but that might just be me.”

“Yeah,” Patrick laughs, “it’s cause you’re such a serial monogamist.”

“Monogamy? Oh, Patrick. That’s cute. You’ve never heard of the time that I took 4-“

“Okay, I think that’s my cue to leave,” Pete says, and he pushes himself out of his chair, “I don’t need to hear this story again.”

“Yeah, and I don’t need to hear that story ever…” Patrick states and Tyler crosses his arms. “It’s such a good one though! ”

Tyler glances to Pete. “But really, Peterson, can me and Trick talk for a second?”

Patrick mouths ‘ _Peterson_?’ at Pete, and he mouths back ‘ _No_!’, before he says to the two of them, “Oh… yeah, sure. I’ll, uh. Be somewhere.”

And he gets it, he knows that he’ll never understand what Tyler and Patrick went through… but he wants to know everything. About what Tyler’s going to tell Patrick, if they’re going to talk about him. Still, he doesn’t do what he wishes he could, which is press his ear up to the door, and he instead goes to help out around the kitchen.

“Hey Grumpy” Ashley says when she sees him, “is it true it’s Patrick’s birthday? Tyler said something about it.”

Pete nods. “Yeah, but I don’t think he wants it to be a big deal, especially after…” he waves his hand around, assuming she knows about the gift because Tyler is a total gossip, and she makes a sad face. “Oh. Yeah. Right. Still, we should do something. I refuse to let him have a shitty birthday. Or, a shittier one.”

“He said he doesn’t-“ “Peter. Shut the hell up and order an ice cream cake.”

And after that, the day went by as it always would. Tyler and Patrick stayed in Pete’s office for a little while (which, okay, Tyler _totally_ screwed Pete over since he stayed long past his break ended and Pete _knew_ that Tyler knew that), and when they emerged, Tyler gave Patrick a pat on the head in the place of a hug before he skipped back into the trenches AKA the Rupi Kaur section. And then Patrick got back to making his brownies, where Pete came up to Patrick to steal one, and Patrick pushed him away with a laugh.

And everything could have been okay again, like nothing had happened. But it won’t. Because this isn’t a fantasy and Pete just. Just hates reality and hates that whenever something good happens, it comes crashing down at his feet.

It’s the end of the night when everyone’s about to set up the cake (maybe ice cream wasn’t the best idea seeing as they’d had already, but… nevertheless), and since Pete was granted with the gift of distracting Patrick as they set up the candles and let the cake thaw out, he did the only thing that seemed practical. Which was take him back into the office. Which was pretty stupid since the gift was still sitting on the desk, taunting them. A little reminder that it would never be just Pete-n-Patrick, there’s still something, _Shane_ , lurking in the crevices. It’s enough to put _Pete_ on edge, so he doesn’t understand how _Patrick_ can do it.

“Okay, so what’s this crazy awesome cake recipe you have to show me that’s totally taking up my commute time?” Patrick asks, shifting closer to Pete as Pete takes a seat and turns his computer on. “I’m sure my version of it is better.”

Patrick grins when Pete humors him a little. “Yeah, Trick, no one can compare to you.”

Pete types in his password and after a moment, his home-screen pops up. It’s nothing new to Pete, which is why he totally forgot about it until it loaded, but it’s him and Mikey on the day that the restaurant opened. It’s actually pretty lame in terms of Pete and Mikey; it’s not like they’re kissing or making out, and they aren’t even the focus of the picture, it’s just the **_‘GRAND OPENING’_ ** sign at the top of the doors. But they’re on the side, and they’re there. Mikey, with his arm wrapped loosely around Pete’s shoulder, smiling at the camera with a huge grin, and Pete, ever the cuddler, leaning against Mikey with one hand, the one with his black painted nails and the wedding ring, on Mikey’s chest, and his face angled to the side as he pressed a kiss to the side of Mikey’s face. But he’s still looking at the camera, his happiness apparent more in his eyes, even though they were rimmed in deep black eyeliner.

And that happiness just isn’t there anymore.

There’s such an awkward lull in the conversation as they both stare at the screen, praying that all of the apps load quicker so that their eyes can focus on something else. But it’s there. Pete and Mikey, in all of their happiness. And it’s there. Shane’s gift, sitting alone on the desk. And they are acutely aware that whatever the fuck is going on between them isn’t right. Just a fantasy.

“That’s a… good picture,” Patrick says softly, and his eyes shift towards the gift. If he can really even consider it to be a gift.  Patrick knows it was just sent to remind him of whose name it was on his wrist. It wasn’t from an apologetic place.

“Yeah…” Pete replies, still staring at it. And his head drowns in a pool of questions, _what would he think, we never talked about this, what would he say, would he hate me, would he hate me more than he should, I’m the reason, I’m the reason it happened…_

His face burns red. All he wants to do is _ask_. Swim out to wherever Mikey is resting and ask. Mikey was always a closed book. He never wore his emotions on his sleeve. And there’s a small, timid voice in the back of Pete’s mind that tells him that Mikey would want him to be happy. But there’s another that screams that he doesn’t deserve that. That second chances don’t exist in a world where you’re assigned to one and you die with their name on your body. There’s no escape from it, just stares at you in the face and makes you feel so fucking guilty for feeling anything too strongly for anyone else.

Like a pair of eyes drawn on a chalkboard in an exam room, Pete feels watched, like everything he does, even if it’s a right move, is wrong. The name watches him, it’s on his fucking wrist, with every hand he holds, with every touch on someone else’s face, with every finger buried in someone else’s body, Mikey is there.

Pete understood why Patrick covered his mark, but now he _really_ understands. It’s a reminder in bold. But what if you don’t need a reminder? What if that reminder is dead? What if that reminder is an abuser? Then what?

“I like your nails,” Patrick says, trying to offer Pete a smile. “So emo.”

Pete laughs, letting all of his tensions seep out of his body, even if it’s for a second. “At least my hair was normally colored there. I once did red, um… _Mikey_ thought it was ridiculous.”

Patrick presses a warm hand to Pete’s shoulder. “Yeah, I agree. I like this hair on you more. And you can see your eyes better without all of the eyeshadow.”

“Eyeliner,” Pete corrects with a smile, and then he melts into Patrick’s touch. He doesn’t even get the chance to open up his cake recipe, because Hayley peeks her head into the office, telling them to come out, but for that split second moment, Pete didn’t feel so bad. With Patrick’s hand on his shoulder, grounding him, the little voice in his head telling him that Mikey would have wanted Pete to be happy… it prevails. And if it’s just a side effect from the smell of Patrick’s cologne, of the softness of his hands, then… Pete doesn’t care.

“Boys,” Hayley says, “we have a surprise!”

Patrick turns to blink at Pete. “We _do_?”

Pete throws his hands up. “Not my idea!”

Hayley nods. “ _Not_ his idea, he doesn’t get to take credit for it. Come! The cake is gonna melt!”

All of the lights are turned off (Pete prays that no one walks into a stove) when they walk out, and when Patrick says, “What is-“ (with the intention of finishing that sentence), the lights get flipped on, and everyone screams “HAPPY BIRTHDAY PATRICK!”

And, instead of a regular birthday song… Sameer blasts from his speakers _“Baar Baar Din Yeh Aaye.”_

There’s a whole lot happening at once- everyone’s hugging Patrick and telling him ‘happy birthday’ over this Bollywood song, it’s just the introduction now, and Tyler’s holding his lighter over the candles as he begins to light them- all 27 of them.

“Guys!” Patrick yells, _laughs_ , over the commotion, “you didn’t have to do this!”

Mohammad Rafi sings, _“Baar baar din yeh aaye, baar baar dil yeh gaye, baar baar din yeh aaye, baar baar dil yeh gaye_ ”

“We totally did!” Josh says to him, as he wraps his tattooed arms around Patrick. “Dude! It’s your fucking birthday!”

“I… I _know_ ,” Patrick laughs, still so shocked. “But birthdays aren’t- I mean, this is- dude, what song is this?!”

_“Tu jiye hajaaro saal, yeh meri hai aarzoo…”_

“It’s a really long story,” Tyler yells, “but long story short, Sameer’s mom would always play this for him for his birthday, we heard about it, it became a running gag that we would play it for everyone’s birthday, and now we’re subjecting you to this torture.”

“But we only play it for people we really like!” Sameer yells too, because it seems like everyone who was working, not just Patrick’s friends, are standing around, talking, waiting for Patrick to cut the cake. “So consider yourself part of the family!”

“O-okay!” Patrick yells back, the huge smile on his face never wavering, as the song’s chorus hits, _“Happy birthday to you (ah ho, ah ho), happy birthday to you (ah ha), happy birthday to Sunita, happy birthday to you!“_

In the place where ‘ _Sunita’_ was, it seems like everyone screams “ ** _PATRICK!_ ** ” in its place, MJ and Pete and Ashley and just, and just everyone, they all know it, and Patrick’s going to know it, and he’s part of a family. He’s part of _something_.

The song continues on its course (Patrick has to admit that it’s pretty terrible, but it’s so funny seeing Ashley and Josh sing it to each other, to see Sameer and Hayley dancing to it), as Patrick blows out his candles (Tyler almost sets his shirt on fire when he attempts to rearrange the candles in a phallic shape), and as they cut the cake. And even though it’s done fast, people take their cake home in plastic plates because there are trains and buses to catch, sleep to catch. It was… an experience, for Patrick.

“See Patrick!” Tyler says, wrapping his arm around Patrick’s shoulder as they walk out the doors of Edgar Allan Potato. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It wasn’t,” Patrick says, and he leans his head on Tyler’s shoulder as his way of giving him a hug. “It was amazing. I really love you guys.”

And even though Pete and Patrick leave in opposite directions, Patrick looks over Tyler’s shoulder and mouths _‘Thank you too’_ to Pete. And Pete, who’s been looking at Patrick because… he’s _Patrick_ , he just smiles back as he mouths back, “ _Wasn’t my idea. But you’re welcome.”_

There were a million ways Patrick envisioned spending this birthday. Alone, crying in his room, getting drunk, calling Shane to ask about the gift (that sits in the dumpster behind the restaurant), etc… but Patrick can definitely say that he didn’t expect his friends getting a cake for him, playing a Bollywood song for him, and gaining a new family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in another world, if sameer was guyanese like me, after he played the birthday song, he would have played "like ah boss" by machel montano and da bacchanal wouldda been real. but the indian birthday song.... y'all. if you want to know anything about my life, it's that my mom fucking plays "BAAR BAAR DIN YEH AAYE" FOR EVERY SINGLE BIRTHDAY AND ITS THE MOST FUCKING ANNOYING THING IN THE WORLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! but having a brown character in this... you know i had to do it 'em. you should definitely give it a listen if you want your ears to bleed lmao. my mom paid for it to be burned on a CD 17 times so that it would play on repeat so she didnt have to search for it on a CD or press the back button when it finished. like. god fucking dammit. but, like sameer, its one of those things like. even though i hate it, i'll be like "no baar baar?" if my mom forgets cause. ya know. the horribleness is tradition. anyways, thats me enough of me ranting about the struggles of being brown.
> 
> sorry this chapter was :/ hella emo at moments! i was listening to the kal ho naa ho soundtrack while writing it lmao. and also kanye's "my beautiful dark twisted fantasy" if you couldnt already tell to the 394432 mentions of fantasies. but i mean it had an okay ending so..???? idk! and more of tyler's story comes out! wooo! 
> 
> my tumblr is valleygirlsameer (named after sameer's valley girl accent) if u wanna like. idk. talk about hayley williams or something.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since it's been. WAY TOO LONG since i last updated, here's a little refresher for last chapter:
> 
> *glee narrator voice* so here's what you missed on EAPotato! pete convinces patrick to help him decorate the roof of patrick, ashley, and hayley's apartment complex for MJ's birthday party with some ice cream and then they hold hands and pretend like that's what just friends do! also, it's patrick's birthday? they get back to the restaurant and tyler tells them that SH*NE brought patrick a gift and then tyler and patrick bond over having really shitty soulmates! they don't open the gift because it didn't come from a genuine place and it went in the MF trash where it belonged :) also pete & friends got patrick a cake for his birthday and they all sing and cut cake but not before patrick and pete stumble upon pete's computer lockscreen of a super emo pic of pete and mikey and they both get Really Bad feelings in their guts even though they're doing nothing wrong since mikey is fuckin DEAD and sh*ne was an asshole, but it's that good ol trauma and soulmate guilt! 
> 
> and THAT'S what you missed on EAPotato!

Maybe it’s slightly concerning that Patrick can’t spend a single second alone. Just hearing the buzz of conversation as he spaces out, the sweet voice of a singer in his headphones, the brush of someone’s foot on his as he lounges on a friend’s couch- company, company is what Patrick craves. He’s been deprived of it for so long, and they always say everything is better in moderation, but... It’s hard to be alone. Being alone is letting bad thoughts seep into his mind. Seep like tea when the teabag hits the boiling water. Slowly, slowly, until he’s suffocating with it. _Why me, why did it have to be me?_

Speaking of tea, though. Tyler switches out his joint for his mug full of Lipton lemon tea. He drops his hand, and Josh, who’s got his head in Tyler’s lap, picks the joint from his fingers and takes a drag. “The tea is good,” Tyler says, to Patrick. “Not, not the _drama_ tea, but the actual tea.”

The three of them are hanging out on Ashley’s balcony, because Andy doesn’t want drugs in the apartment. It’s the day of MJ’s surprise birthday bash. The sun is out, no signs of rain, luck is playing on everyone’s side, and it’s warm outside. Tyler’s hairy legs are all out, Ashley’s tattoos see the light of day, but it’s still comfy enough for Patrick to wear a cardigan. Because cardigans are just, just _great_. Light enough to wear when it’s spring-warm and it covers up _fat, disgusting_ arms. Josh is wearing a hoodie too- a GROUPLOVE one that Patrick’s 150% sure he’s seen on Tyler before.

“Thanks,” Patrick sighs, and he pulls his glasses off to rub at his nose. He can’t believe the sight in front of him, Tyler and Josh smoking weed on the weary couch on the balcony, but- he just lets it happen. The two of them came over to Patrick’s place to help with MJ’s birthday cake, because Patrick needed an extra pair of hands, but apparently Tyler and Josh come in a pair. Who would have guessed? But more than that, Patrick couldn’t deal with the silence. Because quiet is vicious. Because quiet isn’t really quiet, it’s _his_ voice. _His_ hands on Patrick’s body. And if Patrick closes his eyes in the dark, when the night is still, he’s transported back to that home, to _his_ arms, and- and he would take the smell of weed over that anyday. Even if it meant they had to go up to Ashley’s place to do it. She’s napping on the other couch, to Patrick’s left- said something about how the smell of weed is calming and that she needs to rest so that she can party hard later on.

Josh hands the joint back to Tyler, and with his mug in his right hand and the joint in the other, Tyler continues talking, even through Josh is pulling out loose strands from Tyler’s basketball shorts. “Anyways, back to... whatever that shit about Pete was. I think you’re overthinking it.”

Josh blinks slowly. “Yeah.”

A little tea splashes out the mug as Tyler waves his hands around. “We already established that Pete has a thing for you, as anyone with a pair of eyes can see. Just kiss him. It’s not that deep.”

Josh repeats, “Yeah.”

Patrick shakes his head, pressing over the itch on his mark, trying to soothe it without giving it too much attention. “I haven’t even- I haven’t even kissed anyone that wasn’t- it _is_ that deep for me, okay, I’m not _like_ you.”

Tyler brings the joint to his mouth as he shrugs. He drops that hand and Josh plucks it from his fingers. Josh closes his eyes, and stretches his legs out as Tyler says, “You’re right. I would have already fucked him by now. Pete’s kinda hot.”

Josh breathes in the smoke. “Pete’s _really_ hot.”

Tyler drops a hand in Josh’s hair. “ _Totally_.”

Patrick gapes at them. “Guys?!”

Maybe it is the weed, but this whole process is going so damn slow. It takes forever for Tyler to bring his mug to his lips, to take a sip, and then it takes a moment for him to gather his thoughts, and then, finally- “Oh, sorry. I’m kinda baked. All I can think about is Pete’s dick.”

Patrick gives him a pointed look. Tyler massages Josh’s scalp, runs his fingers through Josh’s damaged bright blue hair, and Josh relaxes like he’s got no worries in the world. Oh, how Patrick wishes that were him. Instead, he’s bursting at the seams about some fucking guy.

Except Pete isn’t _just_ some fucking guy. And this isn’t any normal circumstance.

“Are you drinking tonight?” Tyler asks, and Patrick shrugs. The party is on the roof, he has no crazy commute. Just an elevator. So, yes. He is drinking. “I mean… a little, I guess, I don’t wanna do anything I’ll regret, that sorta thing.”

“But those are the best decisions. The risky ones. The ones where you have no idea what the fuck you’re doing but you just go for it, because if you don’t, then… you’ll never know. And that’s the bitch of it all, not knowing,” Tyler babbles, before he pauses, and then laughs at himself. “I’m a genius.”

“Yeah,” Josh says again, all starry-eyed when he glances up at Tyler. Tyler runs his hand over Josh’s face, under his jaw, and in a second, they’re shifting. Josh leans up on his elbows, Tyler leans down, and then they’re kissing, open-mouthed and desperate. The mug that Tyler’s been holding in his hand tumbles to the ground, by some miracle it doesn’t break, it just rolls on the concrete.

“Yeah, okay, I’m leaving, Pete’ll be here in half an hour, see ya later.”

Patrick gets up before he has to be witness to this, Josh and Tyler shotgunning each other, and he steps over the mug on his way out.

Technically, their little hang-out did… well. Virtually _nothing_ for Patrick. Just made him vaguely uncomfortable, and the noises coming through the door don’t help, but… maybe he should do what Tyler said? Make the first move? Just- just maybe dance with him or something, definitely not do something as radical as _kiss him_ , and hope that the ribbon covered name on his wrist leaves him in peace.

He knows he’s going to need a lot of liquid courage. And thankfully, Sameer’s bringing the alcohol.

* * *

Pete knows why he’s nervous to go to Patrick’s place, even though it seems so illogical. Ashley and Hayley live there, he’s been there countless times, he shouldn’t associate it with only _that_ night, the night that Patrick called, but he can’t help it. The walk from the restaurant to Patrick, Ashley, and Hayley’s building should remind him of good things, like Ashley’s 21st birthday party, the time that Hayley snuck a kitten in and they managed to keep her for a good couple of months, all of the spontaneous hangout sessions with MJ and Sameer where they just ate chips until 4 in the morning.

But now, with SZA in his ears, he’s already in an emotional mood. Every thought goes back to that night. The way it felt so cold even though they’re well into spring, Patrick’s frigid fingers when he pulled him into a hug, a pillow cold from wet tears, cool skin when Pete draped his arm over Patrick’s, cool breeze from the window. Everything about that night is painted with a dark blue hue, gives him chills. It feels like everything Patrick isn’t.

And even though everything about this walk is different; instead of Patrick on his phone it’s music, and the flowers on the side of the road don’t seem so grey as do in the night, something about the sun makes them shine, and it’s so warm, and everything feels so light, but the details mean everything to Pete. The crack in the sidewalk that he tripped over again, the smell of the lobby being the same, dusty and kinda like cotton candy, even the same damn song in the elevator when he pulls his headphones out. When the elevator doors open, the dim light in the hallway and the absence of windows and light remind Pete of the dark, and when Patrick opens his door, after Pete knocks on the frame, for a moment, he’s prepared for tears and Patrick holding him close and the smell of Patrick’s hair when they lie next to each other in bed and exist together.

Thankfully, he’s not greeted by that.

"Hi,” Patrick says breathlessly when he opens the door, clearly in the middle of getting ready, “Sorry, come in. I’m a, a _fucking_ mess, but just. Just come in.”

If Patrick is a mess, then Pete doesn’t know what he himself is. Because Patrick’s so beautiful like this, it makes Pete’s heart clench a little.

He’s got his hair tied up in a towel hat, something Pete’s only seen his mother and sister do, and he’s wearing this fucking atrocious argyle sweater in May, basketball shorts, and mismatched socks, and Pete has so many questions, the first one ‘ _Can I kiss you’_ , the second one ‘ _how do you put your whole outfit on but not dry your hair first_ ’. He’s so... he’s so ridiculous and this shouldn’t turn Pete on, or make him feel some type of way, but Pete feels some type of way. He definitely feels some type of way. He doesn’t know what it is, but he can’t speak, and every cell in his body yells to embrace Patrick, and for the first time, nothing in him tells him this is wrong. That Mikey, beyond the grave, would hate him. For the first time, he feels totally and completely smitten.

“I have everything,” Patrick says, reappearing from the kitchen, and if Pete’s honest, he didn't even notice. He’s so lost in _PatrickPatrickPatrickPatrickPatrick,_ and Patrick drops a couple of dollar bills into Pete’s hands. “That’s your change. Are you okay? You look a little… pale.”

Pete swallows hard, and tries to muster up a smile and wipe away the probably lovestruck expression on his face. “Fine! Do you, uh, have any water?”

One of Patrick’s famous eyebrow raises. “Do I have _water_? Yeah… come, follow me.”

He’s been in this apartment before, but he’s seeing it in a whole new light. What could have been, if their night went a little differently… He leans against the table in the dining room, directly adjacent to the kitchen, and can imagine making breakfast for Patrick when he woke up, peppermint toothpaste kisses, wetness on his forehead as Patrick’s damp hair brushes against it…

“I like your…” Pete trails off, motioning to Patrick’s towel hat. “Thingy?”

He’s not taking the piss out of him, but it’s still fun to see Patrick blush and bring his hand up to it like he forgot it was there. “Oh,” Patrick says, and then he undoes it as he says, “I have an older sister, so… I kinda learned everything from her. I could teach you, but your hair is kinda… short.”

It’s not so much short as it is straightened and gelled, but Pete would rather a lot of things before letting his hair get wet, so he shakes his head. “Yeah, maybe another time.”

This is the part that he hates. When it gets awkward.

When he hooks up with someone, they both know the deal. They don’t talk about the marks on their wrists, and Pete likes to think that none of them are cheaters, who would cheat on their soulmate when Pete wants his own back so bad, but he’s not a moron, and they… just… They just fuck. There’s none of this, argyle sweaters and basketball shorts and golden hair and thick glasses and black ribbons on wrists.

And with Mikey, he can’t ever remember a time where it was awkward. Pete could just look at Mikey and already have a million thoughts in his head.

Now, he feels like he’s grasping at straws. And everything he wants to say sounds stupid. _How was your day? What’s up? Can I tell you something, you have to promise not to laugh if you don’t feel what I’m feeling, but I have this feeling inside about you, and-_  

“Here,” Patrick says as he hands Pete his glass of water. “The walk was rough?”

“Uh, kinda,” Pete says after he takes a sip. “I’m mostly just tired, everything feels like it’s in slow motion.”

Which isn’t a total lie. Pete’s eternally tired.

“And you don’t want coffee?” Patrick asks, leaning against the counter. “I can make, the machine takes like 7 minutes. If you’re tired now.... Like, I was upstairs by Ash, and she was napping just to _rejuvenate_ for tonight.”

“Yeah, I don’t know _why,_  it’s just drinks and music and cake.”

Patrick kinda gives him this weird off smile. “Wanna hear something dumb?”

Pete shrugs, leaning forward. “Totally.”

“It’s gonna sorta be like my first party without Shane since I met him,” Patrick says, before he backtracks, “Well, not _sorta_ . It’s definitely gonna be my first party without Shane. So _I’m_ excited.”

Maybe it’s the way that Pete’s looking like him, like _are you fucking serious?_ , but Patrick groans. “I know it’s dumb, that’s why I prefaced it with ‘wanna hear something dumb’, because it’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” Pete says, “It just makes me wanna make the party a thousand times better.”

And this time, their silence isn’t… it’s not _comfortable_ , definitely not, and there’s that weird in-between of what’s appropriate and what’s not, but they sorta just smile at each other and that’s… that’s good. Pete wishes he could dream of Patrick’s smile instead of bloody hands and a Good Luck helmet.

Before they go up to the roof, they hang around the apartment for a little. Patrick’s hair dries and he tosses the towel in the hamper in between showing Pete the finished cake. It’s red velvet, MJ’s favorite, topped off with cream cheese frosting and red gel lining on ‘happy 30th MJ!’ in Josh’s handwriting (because Patrick’s is messy), and by the time that they _do_ make it to the roof, it’s 40 minutes to sunset. Which means that they have to work fast to get all the lights up. Which sucks, because Pete’s the taller one, but at the grand height of 5 feet and 6 inches.

“At least the poles are already up?” Patrick tries to console Pete, as he closes the door behind him. There’s a 7 step climb until they’re really up there, but when Patrick gets there, he can understand why Pete suddenly looks a little green in the face. They’re up _high_.

They’re in Chicago, so all of the skyscrapers are smack in their faces, and Patrick doesn’t even have to look over the ledge to know how high up they are, even though they’re right near one. The sky always seems to go on forever, but when he tilts his head to look, suddenly the clouds seem so close, like he can reach up and touch them. When he turns to look at Pete, Pete’s already looking at him, like he’s the only thing that Pete knows is stable up here. And when Pete opens his mouth, to say something _totally_ appropriate like, _‘You look so beautiful right now’,_ the only thing he can manage is “I think I might puke.”

Patrick’s stepping up to him, and he presses a hand to Pete’s shoulder, a familiar motion. “Please don’t puke? Here, how about I put up the lights, and you just...get a feel?”

“What does that mean?” Pete asks, and his feet don’t wanna go when Patrick’s hand moves from his shoulder to his _hand_ to pull him towards the center of the roof. He doesn’t even- his fear isn’t that dramatic, but suddenly there’s a ledge in sight, right in front of his face, and instantly, he’s got these really bad thoughts, like why not try? Then, he could be happy with Mikey, swim out into the great big sadness and when he reaches the bottom, maybe his death could be tragic like Mikey’s too. It could be like Romeo and Juliet, if they were both guys, and if Romeo was hit by a car while on his motorcycle and then dragged under said car and then got smothered by the same car when the fire-department tried saving his life but ending up just doing the exact opposite, and then Juliet joined after a long three years later by jumping off a roof while his friend and kinda-crush just stood by and watched.

Warm breeze hits his face, and he wants to be weightless. Go with the wind, until it takes him far away from here. But Patrick’s hold on his hand keeps him grounded.

“Please,” Patrick says, “Just. If you stand in the middle, then it won’t be so bad. I’ll hold you.”

“It’s so fucking stupid,” Pete says, “I need so much alcohol to even stomach this, and I’m not even near any ledges. I don’t know what I’m afraid of. It’s safe, and I know it’s safe, and there’s no way I can fall off, but I just picture falling and maybe I _want_ to fall sometimes, and-”

He’s just babbling right now. Maybe he’s not puking, but it’s total word vomit, but it’s better than lying in a corner while Patrick does all the work, he thinks, so at least he has that going for him.

“And I don’t- everything is so half-assed, you know? I make these plans and then I can’t fucking do them because I get too scared, and my whole life is half-assed because there’s only me and half of me is fucking gone, and even this, even us, we’re not, everything is fucked!” He practically screams at poor Patrick, even mentions _it_ , the unspoken thing, but Patrick just guides him further until they stop, and suddenly, they’re in the middle of the roof, and somehow Pete made it across.

He takes a deep breath, and looks around. And sure, everything seems high up like it did a couple steps back, but there’s nothing to confirm that, just the skyscrapers and Patrick’s eyes that match the sky. And if he loses his footing, he just falls on the concrete 5 feet and 6 inches away.

“Good?” Patrick asks, and suddenly, Pete’s focusing more on Patrick, on his hands that are so soft even though they shouldn’t be, with all of his years of cooking and playing instruments, the smell of shampoo, the scar in Patrick’s eyebrow. If Pete moves just a little closer, and if Patrick moves his hand so that it could be cupping the side of Pete’s face, a little hint that he wants it too. Pete’s kissed dozens of people, people he can hardly remember, and people he can’t forget, but he has this longing just to feel Patrick’s lips on his, even though kisses these days are more of a formality to him.

“Better,” Pete says, tilting his head a little. An invitation, for Patrick to _please_ take the bait, just move in closer, but Patrick doesn’t take it. He just lets go of Pete’s hands, and says, “I’m gonna, I’m gonna go do the lights now, okay? You just. You just, you just stay here, okay-”

And then Patrick’s off.

And then Pete’s all alone.

It turns out to be pretty okay, because he tells Patrick where to go, and what looks best, and he guesses it’s teamwork, and he does feel a little better knowing that nothing is gonna drag him 20 feet to his death, but it just feels like… like dropping an ice cream cone that you saved up  and waited for. Except he’s the fool, because he should have seen it coming. If he wants to keep this analogy going, it’s like… he’s the one who should have seen the blaring obvious lift in the sidewalk.

The lights are all stringed up. All it really took was Patrick to stand on his tippy-toes to get to the lowest point, and they both agree that Travie can fix it for them when he shows up to set up his computer. Still, even though Pete’s seen so many beautiful things, and therefore a bunch of colored fairy lights over his head shouldn’t mean anything, when Patrick plugs everything in so that the lights turn on, Pete can’t help but feel in love. The lights, they remind Pete of the atmosphere of the bakery where Patrick used to work, and he knows that this love for both Mikey and Patrick is toxic, because now he’s thinking about Patrick’s blue eyes but remembering Mikey’s fingers on his soul mark, but he doesn’t care when he hears Patrick exclaim, “Fuck yes! It worked! I thought it wouldn’t!”

“Yeah!” Pete yells back, and Patrick clasps his hands together. “Okay! What’s next?”

What’s next is bringing a couple of tables out, and then some blankets, because Ashley told Pete that she and Hayley needed somewhere to make out, and after that, they’re free. The foldable tables, those are mostly hell because it takes the both of them to lug it up the couple of steps and to where the drinks are gonna be, which is against the ledge, but Patrick tells Pete to think about something else, and he puts on an album from his phone, so Pete focuses on Fleetwood Mac. A table for drinks, a table near an outlet for Travie, a table for the cake, and another table for… well, neither of them are too sure, but Pete said 4, so there’s 4. The blankets are easier. Pete stands in the middle while Patrick throws a couple around, out of the way from the center, that’s the dancefloor, but around the edges. When he gets to the last one, Pete tells him that he wants to watch the sunset, the sky already turning pink and orange, so Patrick places the last one at their feet.

And then they sorta go down together, Patrick to Pete’s right, and they lie side-by-side.

It’s not the same effect if they were watching without the rainbow lights in the way, but with Pete half buried in the warmth of Patrick’s scratchy sweater, his hand on Patrick’s chest, the silence since the music is off, it almost makes it better. He’s seen 31 years worth of sunsets, but never once through lines of color, never with Patrick. They’re so quiet, even swallowing and breathing seems too loud, and in the grand scheme of things, it’s just the sky changing colors, dusty pink mixing with fire orange until it becomes too much and Pete turns to shield his eyes, but then it’s blues of so many shades, Patrick’s eyes are one of them, and suddenly, slowly, the sky is black and Pete’s asleep for the first time in 48 hours.

At first, Patrick doesn’t even notice, mostly because they’ve been silent for so long. Silence, which Patrick fucking despises, but he doesn’t, not then, because Shane’s voice didn’t make any appearances. The name on his wrist didn’t ache, not even when Pete rested his hand on his chest and his wrist so boldly stated Mikey’s name, and it was just calm. Like, everything in his head felt light. The guitar melody of the new song for the band, the way that the weed smelled back when he was down with Ashley, Ty, and Josh. But then, he heard light snoring, and Pete was suddenly asleep on him, half of his body on top of Patrick’s, head buried in the crook of his shoulder, that kind of sleep.

He blinks down at Pete before he blinks back up at the lights. He doesn’t care about the party anymore and he wishes they were back in his bed, and he wishes he didn’t have to wake Pete up because Travie was coming over and Pete had to get back to MJ. The arm directly under Pete is numb and begins to have that pins and needle feeling, but he braves it for the couple of minutes that he can. Pete’s eyelashes are so dark against his skin, and he looks so peaceful; nothing that Patrick knows, the passionate man that runs back and forth in the restaurant, the bags under his eyes when he speaks his poetry like the words are on strings and he’s pulling everything out of himself until he’s empty, the laughing with Tyler and Sameer. He’s never seen Pete like this, like every worry is gone, but he’s not empty, everything is taken care of so he’s whole again.

Patrick wonders if Pete dreams of Mikey, wonders if they’re good or if they’re bad, wonders if he’s ever made an appearance, wonders if he’s in shades of depressing blue or vibrant reds.

They stay up there in that position for a while until Patrick gets a text from Travie, telling him that he’ll be there in 5 minutes. In another world, Patrick wouldn’t care. He’d tell Travie to call Ashley to let him in, and Patrick would let Pete sleep a little longer, but there’s always that something in him that tells him that it’s a bad idea, that it’s risky, and Tyler said to make risky decisions, but this is different. It’s… it’s just different, even though he doesn't know how.

“Pete,” Patrick says gently, because he hates being woken up too, and Pete just fell asleep only 20 minutes ago, “Pete, oh my God, I hate doing this. Pete, wake up…”

Pete mumbles a little, curling in closer to Patrick, “Noooooo...”

“Pete,” Patrick says a little more urgently, “Travie’s gonna be here soon…”

That seems to wake Pete up a little more- he groans louder when he lifts his head off Patrick’s chest, and pushes himself up, one arm pressing into Patrick’s stomach as he does, which hurts like hell. Pete glances at Patrick once he’s up, and he looks like he could tumble back to sleep any second soon, so Patrick pulls himself up too, with his good arm, and he says, “Sorry… I know you were tired, but-”

“I know,” Pete cuts him off, and he rubs at his eyes as he yawns. “I know, fuck, I’m sorry I even-”

It’s Patrick’s turn to cut him off. “No, it’s okay, I didn’t mind. You’re… y’know, you needed that nap, so…”

Pete laughs sleepily, kinda like he’s floating between his dreams and reality, “Yeah, I did. You ever sleep so good it feels better than sex?”

“Yeah, I definitely need to help you down the stairs,” Patrick says, mostly to himself, pushing himself off the ground before he holds a hand out for Pete to grab. “Let’s go?”

For the record, all the sex that Patrick’s ever had has never been that great, so he secretly agrees with Pete, but it seems pretty useless to talk to Pete like this, with his droopy eyelids and the swaying.

It takes the elevator ride back down for Pete to fully wake up, but when they reach the lobby, Patrick can see the stress and tension filter back in Pete’s body. The rigid shoulders and the tired eyes that aren’t tired from a lack of sleep, but more like... tired from _life_.  When Patrick says goodbye to Pete, when they hug goodbye, when Pete leaves, with his headphones in his ears, Patrick already can’t wait to see him again.

* * *

It’s one o’clock in the morning, and Patrick’s having the time of his life.

Although, with Sameer’s mix of vodka and pink lemonade in his hand, it’s sorta hard not to. He went with the light stuff, because getting hammered isn’t on his list for tonight, but it’s clearly on Pete’s. He’s over in the corner chatting with MJ and a couple of their non-work friends (and Andy too? He came up for free cake and ended up staying), and he’s leaning his arm against the ledge as he laughs heartily, wide grin plastered on his face and... God. Pete definitely wasn’t lying about needing a couple of drinks to be totally okay with heights. Patrick will look over at Pete in between laughing at Sameer and Ashley’s dance moves and just see a mess of _happy_. Maybe it’s because he’s seeing him through pink lemonade and vodka colored glasses, everything is a little fuzzy right now, and he’s definitely not drunk, he’s definitely something, but Pete looks so fucking good. Wearing this too short blazer and the tattoos around his wrist are totally visible, and it clings to his shirt, and his shirt is kinda tight too, and he sees that necklace looking tattoo too, and tattoos have never been Patrick’s thing, but they’re Patrick’s thing now. Pete’s smile looks best on him though- he’s so smiley, and it would be sad that only a drink can do that, but Patrick’s not dwelling on that. Kinda.

“You okay?” Ashley asks, handing Patrick another full drink, even though he’s not done with his first one. “You look sad, n’– _no one_ is allowed to be sad tonight!”

“Yeah!” Patrick says, holding both his drinks in his hand now, just as another banger from Travie’s playlist comes on. “Perfect! Let’s dance!”

As it turns out, if you tell someone to go home to get dressed for ‘no reason, I think we should just dress fancy to go out to dinner… even though it’s 11pm, and we work at a restaurant…’, they’re going to suspect that you’re throwing a surprise birthday party for them, but MJ still looked pretty surprised when she saw the whole rooftop set-up- even if it was pretty lame in comparison to actual rooftop parties, with pools and all of that. Instead, they just had measly string-up lights and foldable tables, but that’s all you really need for a good time… apparently. She pressed a kiss to Patrick’s cheek when she saw the cake, and when Pete teased her about being old, she playfully punched him in the arm, and then asked if they could open the bottles because she wanted to drink away the thoughts of being 30, because _God_. Thirty. _Thirty_. And then Pete pretended to look offended as he drank straight from the bottle and that’s where they are right now- mostly drunk, mostly happy.

Right now, Travie’s got ‘Side to Side’ by Ariana Grande on, and Patrick’s dancing is mostly swaying to the music, but seeing Sameer, Hayley, and Ashley get into it helps Patrick a little. Like, he can bring out his ‘in front of the mirror when Michael Jackson comes on’ moves. Tyler’s on the dancefloor too, but he’s with his _date_ . A really nice girl named Jenna, which is all fine and good, except Patrick very distinctly remembers Tyler and Josh making out less than 12 hour ago, and when Patrick looks over to Josh and Jessica, Sameer’s soulmate, talking in the corner, it’s clear that Josh didn’t forget either. He’s not pointing at them, but it’s more so really violent head jerks and animated hand-movements that look a lot like ‘ ** _What the fuck?!_ ** ’

But he’s _partying_! So, he forgets that, and drinks from his cups as Ashley and Hayley scream lyrics at each other, _“I BEEN THERE ALL NIIIIIGHT, I BEEN THERE ALL DAY,”_ and as Sameer takes a break from dancing to say, “I don’t even get what she means! Like, side to side? Like, what-“, and Tyler takes a break from making out with Jenna to scream at him a whole 4 feet away, “IT’S LIKE, WHEN THE DICK IS SO GOOD THAT YOU’RE LIMPING FROM IT?????!!!!!”

“Oh…” Sameer says, looking a little defeated for some reason, before he goes back to singing the lyrics with Ashley, Hayley, and even Patrick, because… even though the feeling is highly unrelatable, Ariana is still good.

And apparently Pete thinks so too, because by the second verse, Pete and MJ are dancing with them, and suddenly, Patrick is turning around to greet Pete, and they’re not dancing together because Patrick’s still got two drinks in his hand, but they’re close. _Real_ close.

“Hi,” Patrick says, and Pete says, “hi,” back, and he laughs. “I know I looked, uhhh, kinda like an alcoholic back there, but you have two drinks in your hand, so I think you take the cake.”

“Well, I love to have fun,” Patrick mumbles, before he downs his first cup to finish it off. “It’s, like, lemonade and vodka, it’s soooo good! Did you try it?”

Pete shakes his head. “I drank the real stuff,” He says with another grin, and Patrick decides that he likes this. Pete playing with him, and them not tip-toeing around each other. “Can I try yours?” Pete asks, and Patrick nods and hands it over. Ashley brushes past him to grab another drink for Hayley and when she asks if Patrick wants another, he shakes his head and she takes his empty one just as Pete drinks from his cup. Which shouldn’t be hot, except Pete’s wiping his mouth with his wrist, and his tattoos are in Patrick’s face, and the music and the drinks and the lights above their heads all point in Pete’s direction, and there’s just no sign of Shane in his body, the drinks dull it all down, and for the first time, he doesn’t feel guilty. He just feels like he has a really big crush.

“It’s good,” Pete says, handing the drink back, and Patrick drinks from where he knows Pete’s lips were, and Pete watches him as he does it, and the song changes, and then Pete’s saying, “So, d’ you wanna dance?”

The next song is “Sky Walker” by Miguel, and it’s not a holding hands song, and it’s not a grinding song either (even though Tyler doesn’t seem to think so). It’s kinda slow and sexy and something that Patrick would sway to, so that’s what they do. Patrick drapes his free hand over Pete’s shoulder and Pete moves in a little closer and puts a hand on Patrick’s waist, and it’s an awkward position but Patrick doesn’t wanna drop his drink and he doesn’t wanna go crazy like Tyler and Jenna, so he settles… sorta.

“This... is kinda awkward,” Patrick says, laughs, and Pete laughs too, and moves in closer, until Patrick can feel him, and smell him, and Pete asks, “Better?”, and he licks his lips, but not in a gross way, but in a hot way, and oh God, Patrick’s gonna die, he’s gonna die right here.

“They kinda remind me of that ‘is this allowed’ vine,” Patrick hears Ashley say to Sameer, and he laughs into Pete’s shoulder, “I hate our friends.”

“I like how ‘our’ sounds in your mouth,” Pete says, and as if Patrick wasn’t already gonna get hard, Pete adds, “You look really good right now,” and his voice sounds so different right then, and Patrick knows why. It’s deeper and sexier, and he’s on his way to melting into a puddle. He really is.

It’s hard to have an intimate moment when Ashley is screaming in your ear with MJ two feet away, but they do. Patrick’s face is so close to Pete’s, they can barely hear each other and they don’t want to scream the things they’re saying, and even though they’re around their friends, they feel like they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, that this shouldn’t be happening here and now, it should be happening when they’re alone, and they shouldn’t have to be drunk to do it, but it’s happening anyway. The big break where things shift between them. It’s just a couple of steps away.

“You, uh, you look really good too!” Patrick squeaks out. Trying to not get hard. Because that… that would be bad. “Like, your tattoos. I just. You’re hot,” he says breathlessly, and then he brings his drink to his mouth. “Like, so hot.”

Pete drinks out the rest of it, and when he throws the cup on the ground, when he puts both hands on Patrick’s waist, he looks irresistible. The lights illuminate his face, the redness in his eyes just blend in with the rest of the lights, his lips are wet, and Patrick wants to see how pink lemonade vodka tastes on Pete’s tongue. Feel the scratch on his hands from the stubble on Pete’s face. He hears Tyler’s voice in his head from a couple of hours ago, telling him to make risky decisions, but then this song ends, and another song starts, and he doesn’t know what to do, because he’s stuck.

 _“I need a spice girl! Zig-a-zig-ah, fuck up my whole world,”_ Aminé (and all of Pete and Patrick’s friends) sing, but Pete and Patrick don’t. They’re just together, and their hands are on each other, even when the beat drops, and Josh and Jessica get on the dance floor, and everyone’s there, having a good time, and Patrick _is_ having a good time, he just- he just doesn’t know what to do so he stays still with Pete, just staring into his eyes like this is a movie, like this isn’t the weirdest thing ever. Standing in the middle of the dancefloor, yeah, but feeling like they’re all alone. The music is dull in his mind, “ _said she on a diet so only eat bananas, always in your prime, other women don’t align_ ,”, and he isn’t thinking about Shane, not at all, but his brain feels totally empty besides thoughts of Pete, and it’s just Pete, God, just his stupid friend, but the drinks don’t make him feel like that, and suddenly, everything that didn’t seem possible becomes possible with the way that Pete’s looking at him, like he’s got all the answers even though Patrick doesn’t, and he doesn’t know anything, and this would be a huge mess, and-

 _“I wanna know, is this real or fake?”_ the song goes.

 _“Do I have a chance or am I paving ways?”_ the song goes.

 _“I’m tryna find a reason not to say your name,”_ the song goes.

 _“Like you, there’s no look-a-like…”_ the song goes.

Patrick cups Pete’s face with one hand, brings him closer, and he closes his eyes, because he doesn’t want to see the look on Pete’s face if he wants to pull away, even though he’s _not_ , he’s closing his eyes and he’s leaning in, and-

They kiss.

Pete tastes like pink lemonade and whiskey and it’s horrible and so good, and Patrick immediately brings both hands to Pete’s face, to feel him, to feel everything, and they immediately get into it, Patrick’s tongue in Pete’s mouth, and Pete’s hands are _everywhere_ , roaming around Patrick’s arms like he’s trying to find the right place so that they fit together, but they’re _kissing_ , open mouthed and hot, and in the background there’s the “what the- _oh shit_ ,” and the “OKAY, WE KNEW THAT WAS GONNA HAPPEN,” but Patrick can only hear the vibrations from the bass in his ears, and God, Pete, Pete’s tongue sliding with his, and how Pete’s fingers grip him and the way that, that when they pull away for a moment, Patrick’s teeth catch Pete’s bottom lip, and Pete whimpers, he _whimpers_!, and there’s a moment where Patrick jolts forward, kinda like he’s gonna puke, but he’s not, he just pulls Pete closer, and he’s begging, “Oh my god, more, _Pete_ ,” and Pete’s hands go in his hair, and they kiss again, and again, and again.

They should probably move out of the way, since they’re literally in the center of everyone, but it’s too perfect like this. They’re moaning into each other’s mouths, because this is so fucking good. Patrick’s been kissed a lot in his lifetime, but it’s never been like this, with someone that makes him feel the way that Pete does, where he doesn’t know exactly what to do with his hands, know the right angle, and it’s all brand new, and his head is dizzy, probably because they’re not taking a break here. There’s been so much tension and now it’s like this huge wave of everything and Patrick never wants it to crash, wants to let them stay on this high forever.

“Do you wanna move?” Pete asks, between kisses, and the song has already shifted but Patrick doesn’t know to what, so he just brings Pete in for another kiss, a hand steady at the back of Pete's neck, stepping back until he feels something soft on his feet, one of the blankets that are supposed to serve as seating in case anyone wants to sit down, and in a way, it works. Patrick goes down on his knees and Pete goes with him, and Patrick knocks his head on the concrete when he falls onto his back.

This is easy, Pete climbing on top of him, and he leans up on his elbows, and Pete’s arms are on either side of him, and Patrick’s shameless right now, but he’s been waiting for this for so long, and it’s not like they’re fucking or anything, even though Patrick would do anything to shove his hands down Pete’s pants, but they’re getting intense, and Patrick can feel Pete’s dick pressed on his thigh. They’re sighing into each other’s mouths, and Pete’s moving down, and Patrick leans his head back, opens his eyes, buries his hand in Pete’s hair as he kisses his neck. Patrick sees stars, literal ones and ones behind his eyes, and he sees the string of lights, and Pete is warm weight on top of him, and his mouth is covered in spit, and he’s so out-of-breath, he can’t believe this is happening, and he could cry.

Five months ago, he was so fucking lost, and you know what, maybe he is still a little lost, but it’s so much better, and his life is so much better, and the alcohol is making him more sappy, but Pete’s making out with him, he’s putting hickies on his neck, and they’re in front of everyone, but they’re at a party, Patrick’s first one since Shane, and it’s his first kiss since Shane, and there’s no more Shane, and suddenly, Patrick wants more. He got a taste of _since Shane_ , and before he can think about it, he says, breathless, “Come over, I want you so bad. C-come in my bed, _come_ in my bed, just- let’s get out here.”

Pete looks up and Patrick feels his stomach lurch again- he looks so good, nothing like Shane. He’s all dark eyelashes, he noticed that before but it’s so different now, and he’s dark hair and a devious smile, especially when he bats his eyes so innocently, and it’s such a contrast that it makes Patrick fucking hard. It should be uncomfortable, and actually, it kinda is, but more than anything, it just makes him so fucking needy. Suddenly, all Patrick wants is Pete’s dick in him, and- and then there’s that image in his mind, and it’s so wrong, because it’s not Shane, but it’s so _deliciously_ good.

“Yeah,” Pete says, “let’s go.”

It takes a while for them to get up, mostly because Pete’s swaying so much as he tries to get on his feet, but he kinda just tumbles onto Patrick, and then they laugh and kiss again, and then they try again, but by the time they get up and start bee-lining for the staircase, because the only things in Patrick’s mind have become just _Pete’s tattoos, Pete’s mouth, Pete’s hands,_ they get stopped.

“Yeah, no,” Andy says. He looks at them with crossed arms, and Patrick blinks at him. “Huh?”

“This is a bad idea, you’re both wasted. _Beyond_ wasted,” Andy says, and somewhere in the back of Patrick’s mind, is a little lightbulb. _Andy doesn’t drink_.

“ _Not_ wasted,” Patrick says defensively. “I just l-love to have fun!”

“I don’t even know even why I’m-“ Andy begins to mumble to himself, and he pinches the bridge of his nose with his finger before he throws his hands up. “Patrick, you’re fucking wasted, alright? You would never actively eat someone’s face in front of a bunch of people and then proceed to almost get your dick sucked on the fucking roof of a-”

“I did _not_ eat his face!” Patrick says, “And I was not about to get my dick sucked!”

Pete’s face says otherwise. His head lolls on Patrick’s shoulder, and his hands rest on Patrick’s ass. He’s been quiet throughout this interaction.

“Just-” Andy begins to argue, even louder, but he lets it go, realizing how worthless it would be to argue with two drunk people, and he just sighs. “Just wait until you’re both sober, huh? One of you is gonna get whiskey dick anyway, and it’s gonna be disappointing for everyone.”

“I _don’t_ get whiskey dick! It was, it was one time, okay?” Pete says, and Andy blinks at Pete. “Okay? Just continue making out in the corner or something. You’ll thank me later.”

Andy blocks the entrance anyway, so there’s no sneaking past, and the two of them give up with a sigh. They go back to making out, sure, but it’s not the same, even if there’s the familiar fire behind it. Wet, hot, everything Patrick wants and more even if it’s not what Patrick wants.

The rest of the party is a goddamn blur. They get back on the dance floor at one point, because at 2:30am, they’re still on fire, and they don’t grind on each other, mostly because Patrick would _actually_ throw up if he had to move that much,  but they sing to each other, and there’s definitely a lot of hip movement on Patrick’s part. They’re all up in each other’s faces, but everyone’s smushed together, Sameer &Jessica and Hayley&Ashley&MJ, and then there’s Tyler and then there’s Josh, and then everyone else, and one point, when Travie plays “Mr. Brightside”, they’re all screaming with each other, and it’s so much, but it’s good. Again, Patrick’s head pounds, but then Pete’s pressed up against him, and his mouth is on the back of Patrick’s neck, pressing kisses, and he's muttering, _“So fucking hot, you’re s’ hot, you’re so beautiful, so fucking beautiful, you don’t understand”_ in Patrick’s ear, and his dick is against his ass, and suddenly, Patrick wants all the overstimulation in the world.

Like all good things, though, the party comes to an end shortly after. At 3:15, Patrick’s drunk ass is picking up discarded cups as Hayley and Ashley play music from their phones, helping him out.

“I never knew you were such a hoe,” Hayley giggles, as she throws a cup in the open garbage bag in Patrick’s hands. “That goodbye kiss was… intense.”

Considering it took Andy to pull Patrick away, because MJ was very impatiently waiting for that kiss to end so that they could go home, Pete’s hands on Patrick’s face, Patrick’s eyes closed as he held onto Pete’s arms, keeping him there… yeah, Patrick would say that it was pretty intense.

“I’m drunk as fuck,” Patrick laughs. He brings his fingers to his swollen lips, and he can feel Pete again. “I haven’t been kissed like that since… _mmmmm_ … forever.”

“Oh, please,” Hayley laughs too, “You were doing a lot of the work too. Too bad you won’t be able to remember a lot of it tomorrow.”

He hopes that won’t be true. But even if it were, he has these nice dark bruises on his collarbone as proof. He touches one of the hickies, and he feels a chill through his whole body. Pete gave that to him. _Pete_. He’s never been happier for a bruise.

They finish their clean-up within a couple more minutes- they all agree that trying to lug the foldable tables in their drunken state would be a mistake, and they gather all of the blankets in one pile, but everything is clean. It might have to rain to get rid of the drinks that spilled, but all of the plates and forks and cups are taken care of. Patrick, Ashley, and Hayley all group-hug when they see that they’re done with the clean-up, and the two give Patrick kisses on his cheek before they leave the elevator.

And Patrick’s exhausted, everything is catching up to him, but when he gets in the door, when he thanks Andy for helping him out and tells him goodnight, when he collapses into bed, covered in sweat and Pete’s saliva, the last thing he wants to do is sleep. Because, yeah, everything has caught up to him, _everything_. Like, the hickies on his neck. And how he got them.

He closes his eyes, and unbuttons his pants, shifting his shoulders to get in a comfortable position. Unties the ribbon, throws it haphazardly on the ground, and as soon as that’s done, he slips that hand back under the covers. The first thing in his mind is Pete on top of him, doing what Patrick’s doing to himself- sliding a hand into his underwear, touching his dick. When Patrick bites on his lip so that he doesn’t wake Andy up, he imagines Pete speaking in his ear, teasing him about it _, “I wanna hear you so bad…”_

Everything happens so slow because he’s jerking himself off slowly, too dry, but just the pressure of his hand can work. He’s been hard for what seems like the whole goddamn night, and this shouldn’t take long, and Pete’s in his dreams, giving Patrick hickies again, and his hands are all over, nowhere that Patrick wants them to be, so he flips Pete over, and he says something smart and sexy, something that he can’t think of right now, but when he says it, Pete’s eyes go wide and Patrick grins.

The scenes in his mind come like flipping through a photo album, because now, he’s on his knees, and Pete’s cock is hot in his mouth, and Pete’s curling a hand in Patrick’s hair, keeping him there, guiding him, and the way that Pete’s voice breaks when he cries out Patrick’s name, the way that his breath hitches when Patrick pulls off and bites the inside of Pete’s thigh playfully, the _want_ in his voice, _“Patrick, please.”,_ is so so _so_ good.

Another scene hits Patrick so hard that he immediately has to roll onto his side to bite into his pillow to keep from moaning. In real life, he’s running his thumb over the head of his dick and rolling his hand faster with more desperation, but in his dreams, he’s on his hands and knees and Pete’s behind him, fucking him hard and so dirty, the only sound coming out of Patrick are these whimpers, but it’s Pete, Pete saying all these things, these cheesy lines that sound so good when they’re said in Patrick’s ear _, “so tight around my cock, you feel so good, I love you like this, gonna make you scream, just you wait,”_ and it’s a dream so Pete got his prostate on the get-go, and one of Pete’s hands wrap around Patrick’s cock, and tears escape his eyes as he-

But when Patrick comes, it’s not to any of that. It’s not porny, and rough and hard and the kind of stuff that immediately brings a blush to your face. This one, it comes out of nowhere. It’s Patrick and Pete in dark lighting, kinda like this, and they’re both semi-clothed, and Pete’s in the clothes from tonight, pants pushed down, but the blazer and the shirt still on, and he’s clinging to Patrick as Patrick’s dick slides into him, and maybe it’s the way that his brown eyes widen before he squeezes them shut, the way that they are face-to-face in the dark, or the rushed _“I think I could love you,”_ that comes out of Pete’s mouth, but that just does it for him. He doesn’t even get to enjoy the rest of whatever that was, but he comes all over his fist and with a muffled cry, and when his eyes snap open, the bed is cold, and Pete is miles away.

 _Now_ is when all the exhaustion hits him. He kicks his pants off with his feet, doesn’t even throw them off the bed, and he grabs a tissue from his nightstand to wipe everything off his hand as he catches his breath. His wipes over his soulmate mark, cum that clouds over the black mark, and the room _really_ starts spinning. Because wrong bed, he’s in the wrong bed, and he’s not with _him_ , and he’s done this awful thing, and-

He flips onto his stomach to bury his head in his pillow, to steady everything, and it’s beginning to turn into a sour night, until he remembers faintly that that was the first time _since Shane_ that he masturbated without thinking at him at all, even if he thought of him after.

And well, as Patrick tries to sleep away his headache, that thought keeps him going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was, without a doubt, the HARDEST kiss scene ive ever written lmaoooo. the 500b one took way longer to happen, word length wise, but i imagined this kiss in my head so vividly and KSJDASKJD I LITERALLY WAS SHAKING WHEN I WAS WRITING IT LIKE I WAS SO PUMPED my never been kissed self was like woowwwww wish i could relate and im the one writing it *insert distraught emojis*
> 
> and tbh i have too many excuses, most of them invalid, for not updating sooner but. we're here so! im really sorry about that, but hopefully im gonna get back on track with this!!! because i honestly Do want to finish it and at least give these characters their happy ending but ! :-) writing is cruel to me! nevertheless, imma do it because if i don't then these ideas will rot in my mind! i got so much planned!!!
> 
> anyways- i made a lil playlist of songs that this fic reminds me of. it's got songs from the "coco" soundtrack, some hannah montana, all quality shit! so check it out if you want! the music literally MAKES the writing for me, as soon as i heard "spice girl" i knew it was gonna be the backing to their first kiss, so like,,,, all of these are super eapotato to me and i just!! yeah!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/umabdhrm/playlist/573elPdY1TFXmFfn5f36i0


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter! is 10k words! @ me dont ever do this shit again! 
> 
> ****the last part has A LOT to do with mikey dying, so if you dont wanna read that and u just want me to summarize it, its all good! just comment and lemme know and i got you covered****

Lavender is one of Pete’s favorite scents in the world. Right next to Mikey’s cigarettes and Patrick’s pumpkin squares.

“You’re sure I’m not bothering you, right?” Pete asks, as he closes his eyes and leans his head back against a towel. He’s got Ashley on speakerphone and he’s soaking in his bathtub… with his lavender bath bomb. The water is sparkly and purple and he’s at peace. Or, no, as much peace as he can be in, given his circumstances.

“Pete,” Ashley sighs exasperatedly. “No, you are not bothering me. Hayley’s at the table working on a paper, Josh is in the shower, Sam is still asleep, and Tyler and Patrick are still not here yet. I am totally and completely yours. So, start talking.”

It’s not really a long story, how he got here. He woke up, felt like shit, didn’t remember much of what happened last night except… y’know. _That_. The one thing that made him panic so much that he almost puked. So, that’s how he’s here now, lying in his bathtub, because the smell of lavender calms him down, and smoking one of Mikey’s cigarettes at 10 in the morning. And he doesn’t feel hungover, just kinda… tipsy. Like he’s still working through getting back to being sober. There’s a glass of water sitting on the lid of the toilet, but he doesn’t touch it.

“Um…” Pete begins. “It. Ah. Okay. So, I didn’t have a nightmare last night, but I think that’s because I drank so much and hadn’t slept properly in about… well, since Saturday night, basically.”

“And it’s Tuesday,” Ashley says. “Jesus Christ, Pete. That’s rough.”

Pete breathes in smoke. It’s still not quite there, the taste, but it’s close enough. Just like everything else in his fucking life, especially happiness, _especially_ his love life, it’s close to being complete but it’ll never reach.

“Yeah. Well, I took a nap on Patrick yesterday before the party, but it- whatever. Wait, you said he was _coming over_?”

“When I called to invite you for breakfast, I invited everyone. Including Patrick. Since, you know, he’s our _friend_? And dude, what the hell are you doing over there, I hear water.”

“I’m taking a bath…” he winces. “I swear, both hands are out of the water.”

“Ew…” he hears Ashley laugh over the line. “You’re taking a bath? Babe, he’s been sitting in the bathtub this entire time.”

He can just barely hear Hayley’s laugh, and when Ashley confirms it for him, he can hear the grin on her face. “She’s laughing, if you can’t hear. But fine, whatever, you’re taking a bath, I’m cooking, I’ve got you on speaker too. So, your non-nightmare. Start back there.”

He goes back in time to an hour ago. “Okay… so, I wake up and feel like shit. Like, ‘grabbing the pillow and wishing Mikey was there because I just want someone to ground me’ kind of shit.”

Ashley hums. He takes this as a sign to continue, but he takes a drag from Mikey’s brand of cigarettes before he continues. “Right. Okay. So, as soon as I do that, and remember that he’s not, I already feel funny, and my head hurts, but I’m still kinda drunk, and I try to think about what happened last night because there’s… there’s cum on my pants, and-”

“ _Ahhhhh_!” Ashley interrupts suddenly. “Spare me the details!”

“Actually, I wanna hear,” Hayley jokes. “Go on. Tell me more, tell me more.”

The 3 of them take a momentary break to sing the line from Grease, before Pete continues. “Yeah, right, okay. Cum on my pants, and I didn’t sleep with anyone last one, too drunk to even… like, _attempt_ that.”

“Not too drunk to practically shove your hands in Trick’s pants,” Hayley remarks, and Pete’s eyes snap open. “I didn’t do that…?!”

He sucks in some smoke quickly, and then coughs over it. “I didn’t! I didn’t? I thought we- okay, see, now I’m panicking. We only made out, right?”

“Uhhh… kinda. No hands in pants. You really can’t remember? Pete, dude. You’re fucked.”

“I know,” Pete stresses. “I know. That’s why I’m here right now. Because, I can’t- like, I don’t know what I said to him, and I don’t know if he remembers, and what if he _does_ remember and then hates me, or worse, what if he remembers and then expects something more, and you know I can’t give him more! But if I came last night and thought about him-”

“You thought about him while you were jerking it? Dude,” Hayley laughs again, and god, it’s so _not_ fucking funny. Pete feels like his whole world is crashing down, and- “Take a deep breath, okay? It’s not that deep. People masturbate to weird stuff, I’m sure drunk you yanking it-” Ashley chimes in to say, “yanking, haha,”, before Hayley reiterates, “ _yanking_ it to the thought of a guy that you were super close to sucking off isn’t the end of the world.”

Pete blinks. “Super close to sucking off?!”

“This motherfucker really can’t remember, oh my God!” Hayley laughs again, and maybe Ashley and Pete have a mindmeld, and she can tell that Pete isn’t in the mood to get humored, but Ashley says, “Hon, isn’t that essay due in 2 hours?”

Hayley sighs. “Maybe so. Okay, bye Pete, see you later. Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Pete mumbles, and then he goes back to smoking.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I can feel your negative vibes through the phone. Sucks. But anyway, Hayley has a point. The whole masturbating to… Patrick, and whatever. Not the end of the world, I promise you.”

Pete pouts, all childish. “It feels like it. It’s not- it doesn’t happen like that. When I… y’know, it’s to thoughts of Mikey. Masturbating to Patrick seems like cheating, way more than kissing him did. Because I’ve kissed a lot of people, but I’ve never- God, this is embarrassing and stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Ashley tells him, even though he knows it is. He knows it’s stupid and irrational but he can’t help it. The soulmate mark aches if he thinks about it for too long. The little piece of Mikey that he has screaming at him that no, he _is_ a monster. “You know what’s fucked up? Listening to Tyler moan Bill Nye’s name. That’s what’s fucked up. Not you… drunkenly yanking it to Patrick.”

“Tyler moaning Bill Nye’s name was traumatic,” Pete hears Josh say. “I think we fucked that night too, I was fucking offended. He was lying right next to me, humping my leg, moaning Bill Nye’s name. That’s like… my dad! I was raised on him!”

“Okay, no, I’m not dealing with two fucked up soulmate situations in a row while sober. Josh, mix up some mimosas.”

“I want a mimosa,” Pete groans. “But I think drinking and smoking in the tub are both far too… rock bottom. And I already feel like I’m at rock bottom. And I think I would double this ashtray as a coaster and end up dumping ash in the tub...”

“Being at the bottom isn’t bad, you can’t get worse!” Hayley chirps, and then Ashley yells back, “ _Babe_! _Essay_!”

This is becoming way too chaotic for Pete’s taste. He’s not even really sure where they were in the midst of this conversation, but he knows that he doesn’t wanna talk about his dick with 4 different people.

“Did someone say mimosa? Wait, where’s Jess?” he hears Sameer, and Ashley yells, “She left for work like 3 hours ago! Get in the shower, we’re making breakfast and talking about Pete masturbating to thoughts of Patrick.”

“Wait, Pete masturbated to Patrick? Haha, oh shit. They were wild last night,” Josh says, and Sameer says, “Wait, is Patrick is coming? Is Pete coming?”

“Pete was coming last night,” Hayley laughs, and then Ashley laughs, and then she says, “Pete, you still there?”

Yes… Sadly.

“Yeah, but I think I’m gonna let you go. This is... a lot.” Pete says, and then he drops his head back on his towel. “I think I’ll just sit here and soak for a little while longer. Thanks for the invitation though, because-”

“Hi,” Pete hears Patrick over the phone, and he almost drops his cigarette in the water. Patrick’s voice, it almost brings him back from whatever shit is in his head. It’s all slosh and garbage by the sewers, and Patrick’s the flowers on the side of the road directly above it. “I’m here, I’m alive. Kinda. My head hurts so bad. And my… _everything_ , really. Oh, the food smells so good.”

There’s a silence over the phone, like everyone over the line knows something that Pete doesn’t, before Hayley _says_ it. “Patrick. _The hickies_. Do you want concealer? I can give you some concealer.”

“Can we not talk about the hickies?” Patrick asks, his voice is tinged with that same level of panic that Pete feels in his chest when he thinks about last night too.  He doesn’t know whether to be relieved about this, or saddened. “I don’t wanna talk about it, I don’t-”

Pete hangs up the phone before he has to hear the rest.

* * *

“I don’t wanna talk about it, I don’t even really… _know_? What happened last night?” Patrick says, looking between all 4 friends. “Also, why is everyone giving me a weird look...”

Ashley looks back at her phone and winces. “Well, I think Pete hung up, but we kinda had him on speakerphone… but he probably didn’t hear that… probably.”

Patrick’s eyes widen. “You what?!?!”

Patrick really likes his friends, but _oh my God._ “Do you think he heard? Is he coming? Does anyone remember what the fuck happened last night?!”

“I’m gonna go take my shower…” Sameer says, officially peacing out and leaving Hayley, Ashley, and Josh to deal with the mess. Not that anyone can really blame him- the poor guy just woke up.

“I don’t think he heard, he said he was gonna get off the phone anyway,” Hayley assures him. “But seriously. What don’t you remember?”

“ _Honey_ ,” Ashley says again, with an air of impatience. “Essay?”

“Right. I’m gonna pull a Sameer and finish this up in the room. Bye!”

She picks up her laptop, leans in close to Patrick as he downs an Advil as a way of giving a hug even though both her hands are anchored to her laptop, and she walks into her room.

So now, there’s just Josh and Ashley. Josh finishes mixing the mimosas, pours the drinks into plastic cups, and hands one to Patrick as he says, “Don’t say that you don’t remember anything, because… you’re gonna be a little traumatized if you know the whole story.”

But he doesn’t, not really. He can remember them kissing, but that’s all. He doesn’t remember getting the hickies, but he remembers spilling over his fist thinking about _making love_ to Pete. Not fucking Pete. _Making love to him_. God.

The details between their first kiss, vodka and pink lemonade, and wiping cum off his soulmate mark that’s still artfully covered by his ribbon, are fuzzy and blurry.

“I know some…” Patrick says, with a frown. “Why, did Pete… did he say anything?”

Ashley and Josh share a _look_. One that says ‘yes’. “Uh… y’know,” Josh says. “You didn’t hear anything from us.”

Patrick nods as he takes a sip of his drink. “Of course.”

“But _someone_ thought about you while they-” “Josh! Not that!”

“What?” Patrick asks, and he pulls his glasses off to rub at his nose. “Andy, before he left, he just said that we were planning on heading back together. Besides that, besides kissing him, besides… ugh, God, wiping bodily fluids off my hand because I was thinking of him. You can’t tell him that though.”

Although, asking Josh and Ash to not say anything while simultaneously asking to hear what Pete told them… is probably a stupid idea. Someone reasonable would say that those aren’t trustworthy friends, but also, that just kinda sounds like what being part of a friend group is. Everyone knowing everything about everyone.

Ashley and Josh share yet another look. “Okay…” Ashley says, pursing her lips together, like she doesn’t know how to respond. “You… oh my God.”

“What, was that TMI?” Patrick asks, before he takes another sip. He’s getting nervous. He doesn’t like the way that Ashley and Josh are looking at each other, like something is so funny. “Sorry, I just. Y’know, Tyler says some pretty crazy things too, I dunno.”

“No, it’s just that Pete said he jerked off thinking about you last night, too,” Josh says conversationally, like they’re talking about breakfast. But, speaking of breakfast. “Also, can you pass the french toast?”

“Yeah, he was yanking it to you last night!” Ash exclaims excitedly, all grins. “This is insane! Fucking crazy! It’s fate. What if it was happening at the same time? You guys were on the same wavelength, and maybe you guys jacked your shit off to the same ideas?”

“Don’t say ‘jacked your shit off’,” Josh winces. “Patrick? The toast? Wait, I think he’s in shock.”

Patrick is definitely in shock. It’s kind of like that part in ‘London Bridge’ by Fergie. Just _“OH SHIT”_ over and over in his head.

He gulps, trying to imagine it in his head. Pete having an orgasm and thinking of him. Was he naked? Where was he? What did he do with his hands, where were his hands, what-

Ashley hands Josh the toast instead, and she places a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Is the reality of you and Pete _not_ being the world’s worst pairing hitting you?”

Patrick nods. “I just thought he would… think it was a mistake or something. Or maybe he does, I don’t know, but… wow. I don’t know if I should be happy? I mean, he came and thought of me, that’s something?”

Josh digs into his french toast. “Be happy. I wish Tyler came and thought of me. I mean, he came thinking about Bill Nye. On my thigh!”

“What?!” Patrick exclaims. “But Bill Nye is like-”

“A father figure! I know! It was the worst.”

Part of Patrick feels a little happy that he’s not in this soulmate struggle alone, but the other part feels like an asshole because he _does_ feel bad for Josh. Whatever Josh and Tyler are, it’s unhealthy, but Patrick calling their relationship unhealthy would be like the pot calling the kettle black. Seriously. Nothing about Pete and Patrick is healthy, it’s just soulmate pain layered on top of soulmate pain.

Patrick pulls the plate with the french toast closer and takes a piece for himself. He has to give Ashley props for trying- he was planning on sleeping in till 2pm, until he woke up to her text. And the breakfast is good for a bunch of hungover people who would totally be down for soggy cereal.

“Anyway,” Patrick says, “because I don’t want to think about Bill Nye like this again- for real, someone tell me how bad last night was. Like, should I be afraid to look everyone at work in the face? Andy said that Pete almost sucked my dick on the roof, was he exaggerating, like-”

“He’s not exaggerating,” Josh says. “That definitely almost happened. But it’s nothing- like, come on. I think Jenna and Tyler were way worse. Not being biased.”

Ashley shakes her head. “He’s not. Jenna and Tyler were crazier. You guys, you guys rolled around and made out and it got a little heated, but everyone was drunk. I think Hayls and I were getting handsy too, Sam and Jess were. Everyone was wasted. You and Pete, you just gotta talk your shit out. Kinda like what-” She jabs Josh in the stomach. “This one needs to do with Tyler.”

Josh gives them a shrug. “Wanna figure out whatever is happening with-” he taps his soulmate mark “-before I even attempt that. I’m just being jealous, it’ll pass. Patience… that sort of thing.”

They sit in silence for a moment, mulling over everything. Ashley was right- the drinks help.

Hayley reappears in the kitchen for a moment. “Sorry, needed more coffee. Any good revelations?”

Ashley twirls her blue hair around her finger. “Pete and Ricky thought of each other while they were jerking it last night. That’s the best part.”

Hayley pours coffee in her mug, and she looks up to grin at Patrick. “Hot! Okay, I’m back to the grind, goodbye.”

As Hayley disappears, Sameer reappears, with his hair still dripping onto his shoulders. He’s not wearing a shirt, but he’s dressed otherwise, in sweatpants that are low on his hips- Ashley laughs at this.

“What’s hot?” he asks, as he takes a seat next to Patrick, and the latter drops his head into his hands as Ashley says, “Pete and Patrick, get this, jerked off thinking about each other!”

Sameer raises his eyebrows. “Together? I thought-”

Josh interrupts. “Nah, separately. Pete thought of Patrick, and Patrick thought of Pete. _Wild_.”

“Can we stop talking about me jerking off?!” Patrick exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “It was a weird coincidence! I’m sure that, whatever, it doesn’t mean anything, we went over this. What’s up, how did everyone sleep?”

And for a while, that’s what the 4 of them do- talk over breakfast and share their weird dreams _(“No, don’t even ask me what I dreamt of last night, we’re not talking about me and Pete again”)._ But still, there’s a little force in Patrick’s head, nagging him. And he doesn’t wanna bring it up again, because it’s so embarrassing, but… what did Pete think about? Are they just making everything up to make Patrick feel less bad? Will things be even more awkward when he and Pete see each other tonight? He’s not really sure what he was expecting for tonight, maybe shy smiles and the usual dance-around-the-subject thing that they’re so fond of, but now Patrick just wants to grab Pete by the shoulder and shake him and say _“Just tell me how you feel so we can learn how to sort this shit out. I don’t know what I’m doing either but it’s okay because we’ll do it together”._

“Anyway,” Sam says, throwing back the rest of his mimosa, “I think half of the reason that dream was so weird was because I was drunk. Like, can that happen, do you think? Kinda like a fever dream, but a drunk dream?”

“I’unno,” Josh shrugs. “I usually get those shitty soulmate nightmares when I’m drunk. That’s why I wasn’t drinking.”

“You were high, same thing,” Sameer waves him off. “Speaking of being high, where’s Tyler?”

The door swings open, and none of them even have to look to know who it is- Sameer’s ability to summon Tyler still stands. Josh and Sameer exchange shocked expressions.

“Hi, sorry I’m late, had to drive home, take a shower, take my T shot, change out my binder, pick up the donuts, deal with traffic, all before 11 in the fucking morning, but you know, who’s complaining?” Tyler says all in one breath, and he drops a box full of donuts on the table. “What’s up, what’s good?”

He sits next to Josh, who looks like he does _not_ want to talk to Tyler. The tension in the room has increased times a million. Patrick breaks it, mostly because it’s too much to bear. “Talking about weird dreams, me cuming to Pete, that sort of thing.”

Tyler blinks. “Okay, you can’t just say that and expect me to _not_ ask questions.”

So fine- Patrick bares his soul again, just to save Josh from having to hear Tyler talk about having sex with someone else. He guesses that’s what friends are for?

Hayley comes out of her room just as Patrick says _“and then the next part, I was on my knees and Pete was behind, and he had his hands gripping my waist-”_ and as soon as Patrick finishes his story, everyone’s staring at him in awe. “So that’s what happened in a nutshell. And I don’t even- I’m not even… y’know, I don’t take _that_ position, it was always Shane, so it was weird, but it was strangely hot. I don’t know.”

“Tonight,” Tyler says, with the biggest grin on his face, “is gonna be _so_ much fun. Also, I’m wet.”

Yeah, Patrick’s not counting on it.

* * *

Pete’s not sure what he expected when he and MJ stepped into the restaurant. He just knows that he didn’t think it was going to look as… normal as it did. The floor is the same, the writing on the wall is the same, the bookshelf is the same, the Slam set is the same, with the free stage, but Pete… he’s not the same. He expected… a shift in the atmosphere. For there to be bright lights all pointing to Patrick, for Patrick to turn around at the sound of the door opening, an angelic choir in the back… something along those lines.

Instead, he just got the usual playlist over the speakers and Tyler tripping and falling on his ass as he tried to pick up a chair to move it somewhere else.

“I’ll go look after him,” MJ, who’s been at Pete’s side this whole time, says, “You go do what you gotta do.”

' _Do what you gotta do’_ is find Patrick, who’s probably in the kitchen making cake pops. He mentioned it yesterday on the roof, before the party. _I think the cupcakes are getting a little old, I wanna try something new_. Patrick’s voice in his head is like red velvet cake. His Chicago accent is the sour cream frosting, a little bitter but it goes so well with the sweetness.

His heart beats wildly as he heads for the kitchen, and he barely hears Ashley calling out a greeting. His whole body is full of _what do I do, how do I look, I should have shaved, I look like a mess, maybe it’s good I didn’t try too hard, what if he thinks I’m trying too hard, does my shirt have a stain on it, oh my God he’s gonna think I’m disgusting, wait, no, isn’t that the point, or is it, what should I-_

“Pete!” Hayley yells out to him, totally breaking his trance. From the corner of his eye, he sees Patrick turn his head to look at him. “Did you talk to Ash?”

He shakes his head. “No? Why, what happened?”

Hayley sighs. “Something about the mini sandwiches? Don’t kill the messenger, just go talk to her.”

The universe seems to not want Pete and Patrick talking because when Pete turns on his heel, Patrick’s hiding behind some cupboards, probably looking for some ingredients. His anxiety, it’s spiking to levels he didn’t even know he had. He’s sweating, and he’s stumbling over his words, sounding like a true unprofessional, and by the time he has everything sorted out, after Ashley’s debacle, he gets a call from the supermarket where they import all the groceries from, and then after that, Tyler talks to Pete for 15 minutes about something that Pete has no idea about because he spaced out during the whole thing. He ends up with his head in his hands, breathing rough, while hiding out in his office with 30 minutes to go before Slam begins. Too nervous to go out and get a drink from the bar, too on edge to look for Patrick, he just feels like puking and going home to cuddle with Steve, the fuckin’ dog. His stomach feels funny, and he kinda just wants a glass of water, but he doesn’t wanna face the crowd in case they need something, and _why does everyone need something_ , and-

The door to his office opens, and Pete groans into his hands. “Talk to MJ, I need a minute.”

But whoever they are, they just close the door and come closer. “You look like you need some water. And some Advil.”

“I’ll leave,” Patrick says after he sets the glass next to Pete’s head. “Feel better.”

“No, stay,” Pete groans again, and he forces himself to look up, even though everything in his body feels weird, like he’s in the wrong body. He has a horrible taste in his mouth, and his hands, they feel wet, like there’s blood coating them. “I’m just being. Dumb. I guess.”

All of the lights in the room seem to be pointing to Patrick. The too-white patches on his neck from the concealer that Hayley mentioned earlier when Pete was still on the phone. The scar in Patrick’s eyebrow, the nervous set to his jaw. “Not dumb,” Patrick says lightly. The way that the light reflects on his auburn hair, it looks like a halo. “Your day sounds like it’s been stressful. And I told Tyler not to bother you but-”

“It’s Tyler,” Pete completes his sentence. “I wasn’t really listening, to be honest.”

Patrick laughs, and it sounds like bells. No, champagne, his laugh sounds like glasses full of champagne clinking. “Oh my God. That’s mean.”

“I’m mean,” Pete says easily, and Patrick looks like he wants to challenge that, but he doesn’t. Just kinda shrugs it off. Pete downs the pill and takes a sip of water, and says without really thinking too much of it, “Was last night crazy?”

He continues while Patrick listens on, “Am I crazy for overthinking it? You have to- to throw me a bone here or something, I’m so fuck-… fucking lost about it, and are we, I mean we’re not, but are we?”

There’s no end to that- just, _are we?_ Like he doesn’t know how to finish it. _Are we friends, are we more, what is this?_

He’s sure he looks like shit, the scruffy face, the oily hair, but Patrick doesn’t seem to care as he moves closer, saying to him, “I don’t know? I’m so lost too, I don’t know what- I just have this feeling like I wanna kiss you again.”

This isn’t an answer. And they aren’t solving any problems, but Patrick sits on Pete’s desk, and leans down where Pete meets him for a kiss. There’s none of the enthusiasm from last night. Their eyes are closed, yeah, but their lips are too dry for it to be anything great, and Pete’s just looking for an answer. For anything. Patrick, he smells like concealer, and Pete knows what’s underneath it, the dark hickies, but he wants so much more than what he knows Patrick is willing to give. Their kiss, it’s desperate, but for the wrong reason. They’re not desperate for each other, they’re just searching for something that isn’t there.

And that should be Pete’s answer. That Patrick is just a cover-up for Mikey. But when they pull away, when he looks at Patrick and his blue eyes, and when he feels Patrick’s grip on his arm, his body tells him to bring Patrick back in. Patrick’s nails, they dig into his muscles and it hurts, but the way that their teeth clash, the way that Patrick goes right for the kill and works his tongue into Pete’s mouth, or the way that that’s how Pete likes his kisses, with all tongue and dirty and messy, so he gets back into it too. His brain yells at him ‘ _stupid, you’re a moron!_ ’ but all he can think about are his fucked up fantasies. Patrick cuming on his face, Patrick’s sugary sweet smile as he fucks Pete into another life, Patrick’s tongue on the head of his dick. _God_.

“We’re not really talking,” Patrick notes, although it seems like he’s talking to himself, and then he’s slipping down to his knees, settling between Pete’s legs and Pete’s looking down with wide eyes because this isn’t-

“Hey,” the office door swings open, and Patrick quickly ducks his head into Pete’s lap so that he’s not seen. It’s MJ, and she doesn’t suspect a thing. “You feeling okay? We’re filling up, you might wanna come out soon. But I can start it off if you’re still feeling shitty.”

Pete’s breathing is still rough like it was a couple of minutes ago, but it’s definitely not because of anxiety now. “Oh. Yeah, I’ll be there. Just give me a sec?”

MJ nods, and then gives him a weird look once she notices the water on the desk. “Someone brought you water?”

Pete gulps. “Yeah…”

He’s never wanted to close a door more in his life.

“Okay…” she mimics his ominous tone, before she gives him another odd look as she closes the door. Pete and Patrick heave a sigh of relief at the same time, and Patrick pulls himself off his knees. “Okay. Heat of the moment,” Patrick laughs nervously. But he doesn't look embarrassed. So maybe it wasn't just the heat of the moment, maybe Patrick really wanted it too, maybe-

“Did they tell you?” Pete asks. “I mean. It’s Josh and Ashley, so probably, but did they tell you about…?”

“Maybe,” Patrick says, deciding not to humor this. “I. Uh. Yeah. Same thing, I thought about you too last night. Anyway, I’m leaving now! Goodbye!”

And as soon as Patrick came, he left. And Pete’s only got a minute to will down his boner.

* * *

Slam this time around is weird. Patrick’s sitting at a table with Sam + the crew, and he’s drinking coffee (Josh over at the bar asked if Patrick wanted some pink lemonade and vodka and Patrick almost strangled him), and he can’t stop thinking about sucking off Pete. Go figure.

The burn in his soulmate mark is relentless, it’s quite literally an itch he can’t scratch, but when his mind is occupied with _other_ things, Pete’s hands buried in his hair, or Pete’s mouth on his dick, it’s easy to forget about Shane. He doesn’t really know where this renewed sense of sexuality is coming from (though, it might be because he hasn’t enjoyed sex in… well, _years_ ) but he doesn’t complain. As annoying as it is to have to keep his mind clear of _that_ and focus on, for example, Ashley’s poem, this means that he’s _healing_. That he can think of intimacy and not see _him_ , or feel _him_ , or hear _him_. And that thought feels so fucking good. Even if the mark on his wrist practically begs him to feel guilty.

“Are you okay?” Tyler whispers in Patrick’s ear, sounding genuine for once. “You look… like you’re constipated or something.”

Or maybe not…

“Yeah,” Patrick whispers back.

“Well, no, I’m not constipated, but yeah. I’m fine,” he clarifies, still in a whisper. Ashley’s still delivering her poem, something about [pink ](http://hotelhalsey.tumblr.com/post/137617022977/iamhalseymusic-simon-says-her-eyes-are-brown)lips and wet thighs and sweet syrup. Judging from the blush on Hayley’s face, it’s about her, but that’s kinda how it is when you have a soulmate.

Patrick leans over to whisper in Tyler’s ear again. “Is it just me or is Pete… like, he looks really good right now, doesn’t he?”

Pete’s sitting with MJ and some of his poet friends. The rest of them look so pretentious. Kinda the way that Ryan Ross looks. The scarves and the cigarette breath, artful watercolor tattoos and delicate paperboy hats. But Pete, he’s wearing jeans that are cuffed because they’re too short, and this black pullover, and _God_ , the stubble on his face looks good on him, the tired eyes and the circles under them, and just... the way that he pulls on his hair when he runs a hand through it. He’s hot. He’s so hot. Patrick just wants to sit on his dick or something.

“Uh… _no_ ,” Tyler says softly with a grimace. “He looks tired and like he needs to wash his hair. Ricks, you got shitty taste. I can understand when Pete looks better, but now he looks like… something the cat dragged in.”

“ _Cat_?” Sameer turns around, looking interested, but Tyler waves him off.

 ** _“I want to crawl inside your body and make a home there,”_ ** Ashley speaks into the microphone, on the stage, and all 3 of them return their attention to her. Hayley hides a smile behind her hand. Patrick feels a fire somewhere in his body. He knows Ashley’s poem is about Hayley but everything he feels is for Pete.

What the fuck is happening to him?

 ** _“Leave my things strewn across the floor, open the windows to let in the breeze, and throw myself down onto the sofa with a content sigh,”_ ** she continues, and _yes_. Pete’s place with MJ is gorgeous, and he can imagine watering plants by the windowsill, Pete tossing his shirt off in the middle of the living room, and when Patrick slips on it in the middle of dancing to a song, he falls into Pete’s arms. They would kiss on the couch and the spring air would bathe their bodies. Pete in these fantasies, he doesn’t have a name on his wrist when Patrick kisses over his body, when he sucks Pete’s fingers in his mouth. These fantasies, they’re warm. They smell clean because Pete’s a breath of fresh air. It feels like healing in unhealthy ways. The way the mall smells before you blow all of your money on retail therapy.

Pete, he said that he slept around a lot since Mikey died. And maybe that’s how the healing works then, just constantly being horny or something, Patrick wouldn’t know, he’s never been heartbroken and soul-broken before now, but all of that… sexual energy is directed to Pete. He thinks back to this morning- he didn’t feel anything when Sameer walked out shirtless even though Sameer’s attractive. Even Josh, who’s single. He’s cute and Patrick’s sure that, y’know, whatever, Tyler seems happy whenever Patrick hears that they fucked, and Patrick can’t even think about Tyler like that even though Tyler’s hot in the way that… Tyler’s hot. It’s indescribable, Tyler’s just hot, but even then, he doesn’t feel anything. It’s just for Pete, and that’s dangerous, isn’t it? Patrick should be afraid of it, but mostly he just _wants_.

 ** _“I love you[tirelessly](http://iamhalsey.com/post/167762254111/my-sweet-love-lonely-are-the-nights-i-lay-awake),”_ ** Ashley finishes her poem with a laugh, one that increases in volume when everyone claps and cheers her on. “That applause should be for my muse, not me!” She grins, barely able to catch her footing when Hayley jumps into her arms and kisses her like the Earth was crumbling. And Patrick, he claps along for Ashley and Hayley too. None of that bitterness and loneliness from the last Slam, even though Patrick’s just as bitter and alone as he was before. Sadly, that bitterness and loneliness gets passed onto someone else.

“I wanna be kissed like that,” Tyler grumbles as soon as the next person goes up to the mic.

Patrick narrows his eyes, a little more than confused. “What do you mean? You and Jen-“

“I mean, like by my soulmate,” Tyler says, before he goes back into a whisper when the next poet begins to recite. “It’s not the same, y’know? I only kissed him once, but,” He laughs nervously. “Whatever. I’m too good for him… right?”

“Right,” Patrick whispers back, but the thin-lipped smile on Tyler’s face just doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You know when you’re happy for someone, but all you feel is bright green envy? I wanna be wanted like that, fuck that.” Tyler whispers, his eyes on Ashley and Hayley. Hayley’s got her arm around Ashley’s shoulder, and Ashley’s resting her head in the crook of Hayley’s neck.

Patrick knows it’s not his place to say anything, but all he wants to do is point in Josh’s direction and tell Tyler how much of a fucking idiot he is, but instead, he opts for, “I mean, I think you’re wanted…”

Tyler drinks from Patrick’s cup before he leans back in to whisper. “Who, Josh? He’ll find his soulmate and that’ll be the end of that. I wish I could burn my fucking mark off. And Josh’s too.”

Sarcasm drips from his words. “And then we would be so fucking happy.”

And right as Patrick begins to move away, Tyler pulls him back in, one hand on Patrick’s shoulder and the other over his mouth so no one can read his lips. “The soulmate thing is bullshit. Everyone leaves everyone. You don’t die in a pair and you’re not born in a pair. The idea that one person completes someone else is so fucking absurd I wanna kill myself.”

He pauses in the middle of his whisper rant (because they’re being totally rude and speaking while someone is delivering their poem), but he brings Patrick close again when Patrick tries to pull away. “I mean, I guess it’s not bullshit if there’s a physical mark proving its existence, but. Like, kissing Pete last night, didn’t it feel different than when you were with… _y’know_?”

It did feel different. It felt good. It felt a lot better than kissing Shane did. Even this kiss just now, even though it began a little awkwardly at first. But he’s not gonna knock Tyler while he’s already down.

Tyler takes Patrick’s silence as a ‘yes’, Patrick guesses, because he whispers, before he downs the rest of _Patrick’s_ coffee, “basically, love is stupid, we’re all gonna die, and fuck transphobes. You think there’s a thing like being aromatic, but just all sexual? Because that’d be fun. Like, let me put my dick in you, don’t question me, and then we just agree to be best friends.”

Patrick pries Tyler’s hand off his shoulder so he can angle himself towards him and whisper back, “So, you’re mad that Josh is falling for you, basically?”

Tyler shrugs, and motions for Patrick to move back so he can have his turn to whisper. They look like a pair of idiots. “Not mad that… Well, he hasn’t _fallen_ for me, but no. I’m just mad that when _Deborah_ is found, Josh is gonna forget all about our memories together, and then I’ll just be laughed at because I’m the pathetic one out of the bunch.”

“Hey, not the pathetic one. I left my soulmate too,” Patrick whispers, and Tyler shakes his head. “Your soulmate wasn’t ashamed of… well… uh… well, whatever, you have Pete! If you find his greasy ass self to be hot, you’re already halfway to your mark changing.”

 _This_ catches Patrick’s attention.

“What?!” Patrick hisses under his breath, and he says in a low voice, “That’s not funny, you know how badly I want my name off me.”

Another poet takes the stage, and Sameer, who’s only been a couple of feet away from them this whole time, gives Tyler and Patrick a look like ‘please stop whisper shouting, it’s annoying’, so Patrick and Tyler duck under Pete’s gaze and they go outside to scream at each other.

“I’m not kidding!” Tyler yells, right before the door closes shut. “You have to know that your name can-”

“Yeah, I know but- that’s not, that’s so rare, don’t just joke about that?!”

“I’ll bet you anything it happens before next month. Actual money, I would bet,” Tyler says conversationally, but Patrick’s not in the mood for a fucking conversation. He throws his hands in the air, arguing freely in the streets as people pass by, “It won’t! It’s, it’s an infatuation I have with him! Okay?! I don’t actually _like_ him, he’s just someone to-”

But Patrick doesn’t really believe that, he’s not sure why he says it. Maybe to convince his body that it wouldn’t happen like that. Pete, he’s worlds away from Patrick’s reach.

“That’s cute,” Tyler interrupts him, “but you know there’s something more, and-”

“Do I?! Do I _fucking_ know?!” Patrick yells even louder before he balls his hands into fists and forces himself to close his eyes and count down from eight. It doesn’t really work, he’s still pumped with anger and confusion and all of those bad emotions, but when he un-clenches his fists and slumps his shoulders in defeat, Tyler does the same.

“I know you were lying about the kiss,” Tyler says to him. “You’re a shitty liar.”

Patrick almost winces. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

Tyler moves a little closer, so that they’re not arguing from opposite sides of the sidewalk while people pass by, and he says, “And you and Pete thinking about each other last night at the same time? That’s not a coincidence, man. It might actually happen for you.”

“I thought you said the soulmate thing was bullshit?” Patrick crosses his arms. Tyler mimics this motion. “Yeah, well, it’s easy to get swept up in it. It’s kinda like religion; I don’t believe in God a lot of the time, but I still pray.”

They stare at each other for a moment, before Patrick gives another tired sigh. “Wanna go back in?”

“Yeah sure,” Tyler says, before he adds, “I won’t ask you if you’re constipated when Pete’s performing, I know it’s just you trying not to get hard, and I don’t wanna break your concentration,” and laughs as Patrick shoves him back into the restaurant, even though Tyler’s a whole _6_ inches taller than him.

The rest of the night comes and goes easily. Tyler keeps to himself before and after he goes up to read his poem (it’s about God, too, and in the context of the soulmates thing, that hurts a little). Patrick focuses on the words. He’s always been a music guy, so lyrics and words were and still are _not_ his thing, but the lyrics are what make Patrick’s favorite songs his favorite songs. And Pete’s words, they come to Patrick like honey. He just wants to slather them over a guitar, bass, and drum part.

 **_“I am a wing. I am a prayer,”_ ** Pete starts off slow, with his eyes closed. From the corner of Patrick’s eye, he sees Josh down a precautionary drink.

**_“A thimble and an acorn, a promise from a poor apothecary- to an understudy in love forlorn.”_ **

“Yo, what _are_ these words?” Tyler whispers to Sam, and Sameer laughs along with him, but Patrick’s mostly trying to feel Pete’s words. The drums are swingy. Nothing crazy. Something steady, something Patrick can rely on.

 **_“I’ll give you heatstroke. I’m getting you and I’m losing me,”_ ** he says louder, and when he opens his eyes and when Patrick looks at him, he sees Pete the way he’s always seen Pete- vulnerable. Guard up, except it’s a glass window that’s been scrubbed clean with blue cleaning product.

**_“I’m always up until it gets light out. Waiting for things that never happen. My eyes are always rubbed red. But you, you have piano pupils that hum in the night when my head tumbles along. Imagine me when I’m not a blur.”_ **

Patrick’s afraid of even breathing at this point. Like, if he moves, and his eyes shift from Pete’s, then the whole restaurant will shatter into a million glass pieces. Tyler next to him squirms uncomfortably as Pete continues, and Patrick hears him whisper, “Damn, called Patrick’s shit out.”

**_“We’d get legendary, little darling, but I’ve got a nomadic head. I love you, but I’ve caught the doom and the dread.”_ **

_Love_ has become the most exhausting word to listen to nowadays, but Patrick can’t help but feel a little addicted to it now that he’s regained his taste for it. 

* * *

“Hey,” Pete says, catching Patrick’s hand just as he’s about to leave out the door with Ashley and Hayley. “Do you think we can talk for a second? Just a second, I promise.”

A lot of conversations are best saved for when Pete’s 100% there. When he’s not (completely) tired and drained. This is not one of those times. Because when Pete wants to say something, he usually wants to… say it. It worked in his favor when Mikey was with him, because he knew that nothing that he could say would be stupid enough for Mikey to get mad enough and never talk to him again, and he knew that everything he was saying would be the right thing, because the universe created the two of them with each other in mind. They’re a pair, they go together. Mikey understood more in one look than anyone else could in a 1000 words. So, imagine a whole rant.

Patrick turns back to look at Hayley and Ashley, who both shrug. “We’ll hang out in the car and totally try to read your lips,” Ashley offers after a moment, and Hayley laughs upon seeing Pete and Patrick’s expressions. “Kidding! We’ll go around the block or something, bye!”

Pete waits until he doesn’t see shoulder length blue and platinum blonde hair and then he says, “I don’t know what I want. Or what’s really happening to me.”

The cool May air gives Pete goosebumps, but it could be just from looking at Patrick. God, he’s so handsome. Even just like this, with the expectant look on his face and the bulky glasses. In another world, Pete can see it so clearly. Like two peas in a pod. Linked with melodies and a cesspool full of lyrics.

“It’s like, I can’t convince myself that this is okay,” he swallows hard. “Because I fall into ‘Tyler’s trap’ or whatever, and feel this moral obligation to… to _Mikey_ , you know?”

Patrick nods. He doesn’t look happy. “I understand,” he says, treading lightly. “And it’s not a trap, I- I mean, I feel the same. Sorta.”

Pete motions for him to continue. Patrick looks like he doesn’t want to.

“Well, you know. Last night and what little I remember of it, it was good. Like, you… you’re the first person I thought of like _that_ since Shane. That’s all.”

Patrick’s face burns red, and he shifts his gaze as Pete stares at him, dumbfounded. “And I think I’m pulling a little too much from that. I know that, you know, your situation is different than mine. So I didn’t really think anything was going to come of it, I know it was just me being drunk and fucking stupid, but…”

He says this in an even smaller voice. “I can’t help but like you, even a little. That’s how I feel. But I’ll get over it and it’s fine. In fact, I _want_ you to tell me that there’s no-”

“No, I like you too, I- I think I know what you mean, the whole taking everything at more than face value,” Pete says, “The word ‘like’ doesn’t even really cover it. I mean, you heard my poem…”

 _Love_. Pete used the word love. He’s not in love with Patrick, but there’s something really there, he knows it. And he’s tried ignoring it, and that got him nowhere.

“I did,” Patrick says. “So, what? Where do we go from here? I mean, if you want me to pretend like nothing happened, I can do it. I’m okay with being friends. Honest.”

Patrick’s hands are shaking, and he looks like he wants to die, just a little. “I really, like, whatever. I’ve seen you and Mikey together. You guys were good. If Shane were like that, I would want him back too.”

“And he’s not coming back,” Pete says, but it’s more to himself. “I can’t click my ruby heels three times and be back with him.”

“I’d love to see you in those,” Patrick jokes, and he brings a hand up to his face to wipe away a stray tear. He says these words in his soft voice, and it feels like red velvet again. Even when Pete’s professing that he could never treat Patrick the way he should be treated, he still has time to be selfish. “Ruby heels. If I could do that, I think I would wanna live in a world without names. That’s where I’d be at home.”

“Somewhere you’ve never been?” Pete asks, and Patrick shakes his head. “No, I think I would be here. With Sam and Ashley and everyone. Except we wouldn’t have names on our wrists, and no one would feel obligated to anyone. I think I’m becoming Tyler.”

“Yeah, I saw you guys,” Pete jokes too, even though there’s so much left unresolved between them. “I just don’t want to be selfish for once in my life? Don’t want to date you and not be able to give you everything you deserve. Because you deserve so much more than what I can give, you know?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Patrick says. “And don’t tell me what I do and don’t deserve. Listen, have a good night.”

Pete doesn’t have much time to react to anything before Patrick’s pulling him in for a farewell hug. “You and MJ get home safe, alright?”

“Wait,” Pete says, “No, wait, I-”

“What?” Patrick asks, disappointment set in his eyes. “What else is there for me to say?”

“No, it’s for me to say. I just don’t know what I’m doing, and I say stupid things. But, you make me feel things I’m just… not used to feeling, and I get so nervous around you, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before,” he says, fumbling for the words to express how he really feels. He racks his mind for some obscure 80s movies reference, but finds none. “But I love it, you know? I love how… how I’m addicted to the way I feel when I think about you.”

Patrick listens.

“I, I wanna be able to feel everything with you, you know, but it’s just gonna take me time, and you said not to tell you what you deserve, and I won’t, but I’m a fucking mess right now, I can’t even get my thoughts straight, and I’m still so fucked up about Mikey. And I don’t want that to… get in the way, you know?”

“You’re not used to a relationship with flaws, then,” Patrick says, and Pete’s shoulder slump with exasperation. “Relationships shouldn’t be all flaws! And that’s all I am right now. A fucking shell of who I used to be. I don’t want you to hurt yourself on my… sharp edges and whatever.”

“But you like me,” Patrick asks, with a confused expression on his face. “Or at least, you think you do.”

“I don’t know,” Pete says truthfully. “All I know is that… it feels a lot better than it should. Like us, we feel good to me. It feels comfortable, like the wrong puzzle piece but it’s the same size so it fits and then at the end of doing the puzzle it looks a little weird but it looks completely new and cool, and that other puzzle piece wasn’t there, and-”

“This is a really long analogy,” Patrick notes, but it’s with a smile on his face. “Has this actually happened to you, or are you just making things up as you go?”

“ _Might_ be making it up,” Pete winces, although he does crack a smile of his own when Patrick laughs. “But it’s… yeah. That’s how I feel about the whole thing.”

“You’re kind of adorable,” Patrick says, blush apparent on his face. “And I feel like we solved nothing. But I don’t wanna keep Ashley and Hayley waiting.”

It might be the way that Patrick looks in the lighting, and Pete knows, he knows they have to talk about it someday. But just... maybe not today. Maybe Pete can enjoy Patrick’s smile, and the way that the blue lighting from the neon sign in the store next to EAPotato hits his face a little longer.

“Can I kiss you goodnight?” Pete asks softly, taking everything in, just in case this is the last time they kiss. The blue lighting, the smile, the _whoosh_ of cars speeding by. The people in the streets passing by, the way that Patrick’s hands are cold, the way that Patrick tastes when they finally kiss. Like coffee. Patrick tastes like coffee, and his fingers on Pete’s jaw rest there delicately, his hands cold but he’s warm, and he feels like happiness and good, and-

What breaks their kiss isn’t the sound of Hayley and Ashley beeping at them from the car, or anything that would be annoying but sorta endearing. It’s the sound of a motorcycle revving in the distance.

Pete pulls away almost violently, and he quickly looks to see the motorcycle pass him. Their helmet was red, and it’s not even the same make of bike, but suddenly thoughts of Mikey plague his mind.

“Oh my God,” Patrick gasps in the background, but Pete can hardly hear over the ringing in his ears. “Those things are so loud, fuck. Are you okay, you look… spooked.”

“What?” Pete asks, “They’re spooked?!”

“No, _you_ look spooked,” Patrick says, concern even more apparent on his face than it was before, “Was that a mistake, what we did?”

“I can’t think right now,” Pete says, because he can’t. Everything was blue before, blue like the light on Patrick’s face, blue like Patrick’s eyes, but his mind is red. Red like Mikey’s blood. Everything is streaked with him, and when he tries to refocus himself, the only thing he can feel is guilty. He’s guilty, and it’s all his fault. Patrick said that Pete couldn’t tell him what he did and didn’t deserve, but Pete doesn’t deserve him. Doesn’t deserve anyone.

He doesn’t know how he gets to his bed. Doesn’t really remember anything after MJ came out and Patrick said his goodbyes. He does this easily, gets lost in his thoughts until he’s nearly smothered by them. He’s a shitty friend, he doesn’t listen to MJ, he’s a shitty soulmate, he’s the reason Mikey is dead, he’s a shitty… _whatever_ _-the-fuck-he-is to Patrick_ because he left him hanging, and he’s stringing Patrick along for what reason? To comfort him when he feels shitty about things that’re his fault?

He lies against his pillows and falls asleep easily, exhausted from everything in his mind.

* * *

His nightmares always start off roughly the same- Pete and Mikey walking out of the restaurant together, and Mikey giving him one last kiss. His words, _“I miss you already. See you soon”,_ and the _“I’ll zip in and out, that’s what the motorcycle is for”._ Those will forever burn in Pete’s memory. He can perfectly describe that moment, has done it before- buried with a bunch of poems that will never see the light of day again, poems he’s only shown to Mikey’s sibling, on the day of the funeral. Gee, they've always been nice to Pete. Never blamed Pete for anything, even though Pete knows, he _knows_ it’s his entire fault.

This is how he knows.

 _“Oh, fuck,”_ Pete said, as he rummaged through the drawers in the office. The office looked similar to the way that it does in the present day, except there are more pictures of Mikey and Pete, and the rest of their friends on the walls. Friends that Pete still keeps, but friends he’s gotten distant with because it’s too painful.

“ _What_?” Mikey looked up from the computer. “ _Lost your eyeliner pen or something_?”

He grinned when Pete turned around to make sure that Mikey saw his eye-roll. “ _I know, I know. You’ve grown out of the emo phase. It was hot, your long hair was so easy to pull_.”

Mikey’s fingers brushed over Pete’s soulmate mark, and Pete had to close his eyes for a moment to regain composure. And tell himself that, no, it would be very _unsanitary_ if he let Mikey bend him over the desk.

But, he bent down to check in another cabinet and wiggled his ass in Mikey’s face anyway, because… two can play that game. Mostly, Pete was in an annoy-Mikey-until-he-shuts-me-up-with-a-kiss mood.

“ _Really_ ,” Mikey said, once Pete came up with the same disappointed look in his eyes, “ _What are you looking for? Maybe I know where it is.”_

 _“My journal,”_ Pete replied with a frown. He sat down in Mikey’s lap and he sighed as he leaned his head back on Mikey’s shoulder. _“I was gonna add something to the poem for tonight, but I guess not. It’s sitting at home, and I- I fucking know where it is too! I wish I were telekinetic, and could bring it over here with my mind.”_

Mikey hummed. “ _And you don’t wanna go back home and get it?”_

_“Not really… I mean, I’ll just come up with something. Talk about how my whole life is blurry without you, like when you cum on my face and it gets in my eyes and-”_

_" **Pete**_ _! I know you’re joking but no, I have a better idea,”_ Mikey said, before he gently pushed Pete off his lap. _“I’ll run home and get your journal for you so you don’t scare everyone away tonight.”_

This is the part that Pete wishes he could change more than anything. Wishes he kissed Mikey a little longer, so that they would get distracted, wishes he didn’t leave his stupid fucking journal at home, wishes he didn’t make so many jokes to make Mikey all flustered, wishes, wishes, _wishes_.

“ _Really_?” Pete asked, watching as Mikey grabbed his leather jacket. _“Are you sure? I can make something up, I won’t throw in any sex references. Or, no, maybe one. Or two. I can’t be blamed, you’re so sexy.”_

Mikey pulled Pete close by his collar, and kissed him. _“I’m sure, I don’t mind. I kinda need a cigarette break anyway.”_

Pete frowned a little once they pulled away. The smoking thing was hot, but- _“Mikey… you know it’s gonna get harder to quit once we actually secure the adoption papers and get everything moving. The agent from the company was so nice, but I think she had a crush on you which is why she overlooked the ashtray thing.”_

Mikey scratched the back of his neck and gave Pete a sheepish look _. “It’s just making me nervous. The whole thing. What if we don’t get passed? Then what? We’re so close. I can practically taste it.”_

 _“Taste what? Changing diapers? Gross Mikeyway,”_ Pete laughed, before he took Mikey’s hands in his. He looked down at their hands, at the rings on their fingers, at the way their soulmate marks were bold against their skin, and felt a wave of calm. It was rare that Mikey was so open about feeling nervous or anxious about something, so he hoped this motion helped Mikey too. “ _I know we’re gonna be good parents. Just a little while longer, yeah? Just… just a little while, and then we’re gonna have a baby. A baby! A little, little human child! That’s gonna be ours! So when you call me D-”_

 _“Don’t fucking finish that sentence,”_ Mikey laughed, before he turned back around to grab his GOOD LUCK helmet from on top of another set of drawers. _“Alright, so it’s the journal that you usually write in, right? The one with the red cover?”_

 _“Yeah,”_ Pete said. _“That’s the one. Make sure you don’t accidentally drop it or something. I actually wanna try and… publish that one or something. I feel like I could get Dad Points for that. ‘My dad’s a published’- Actually… probably not.”_

 _“You’re the coolest dad to me. And hey, I’m always careful, I promise I’ll bring it back in perfect shape.”_ Mikey said. Which is pretty ironic.

Pete had a weird feeling in his stomach, though. But he stayed quiet, all the way until they reached the front of the restaurant, where Pete’s nightmares usually start.

 _“Are you sure? There’s so much traffic, you don’t have-”,_ Pete had begun to say, before Mikey leaned down, cupped his face, and kissed him to get him to shut up.

The rest of the nightmare carries on in a way that it never does. It just reminds Pete of everything that happened to him even though he’s done everything to try and forget it. So he doesn’t get all of those gory details, but this is worse in its own way.

It’s Pete getting worried as time went on and Mikey didn’t come back. It’s Pete convincing himself that nothing happened, nothing was gonna happen, they were gonna be parents, he shouldn’t drive himself up the fucking wall just because it was taking Mikey a long time. He checks the news just to calm himself down, and finds out from the fucking news. He relives everything, he remembers screaming for MJ, who was in the kitchen, and begging her to make sure that it was true, remembers getting the call, remembers calling Gee and having MJ talk to them instead because he couldn’t get a sentence out. Remembers having to go down to ID Mikey’s body, and all he had to do is check for his name on Mikey’s wrist. Remembers the funeral. Remembers the smell because he could never forget it. None of Pete’s relatives wanted to hug Pete after the service because he practically climbed in the coffin with Mikey, before Gee had to stop him. Gee, they were really good to Pete during the whole thing, even though it was his fault, it was all his fault, if he wasn’t so stupid, if he didn’t forget the journal at home, if he didn’t try harder, if he didn’t say anything about the feeling in his gut, they would have a kid. And Pete wouldn’t be so lonely.

Pete is so lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just like patrick (not that i,,, wouksjads should compare myself to patrick) i kinda just sift through pete's poems and mash them all up. so, that poem that pete delivers isn't one poem, it's like. 1 poem + 1 livejoural entry + "legendary", which is why it sounds Extra rambly. i promise, that's my doing, not pete's!!
> 
> i? surprisingly dont have anything to say? this week? so. hey. whats good. did you guys get tickets to see fob cause i got tickets to see them on their first stop on the US tour and :-) ITS LIT!! AND MY BFF FOR 6 YEARS LILI IS FLYING IN FROM VEGAS FOR THE SHOW TOO AND WE'RE GONNA SEE THEM TOGETHER AND JUST. WOW! also sunshine riptide is my fave off mania, but church is a close second and bishops knife trick is my least favorite... don't @ me...
> 
> anywaysssssssssssss- lemme know what u guys thought?? maybe?? please??? all comments are /greatly/ appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know its been forever since i updated jaadhsdjd so im gonna do another one of those recaps:
> 
> SO HERE'S WHAT YOU MISSED ON EAPOTATO: pete and patrick both admit to masturbating to thoughts about each other the night after the party where they made out.. wild. no one really knows what's going on with them, and neither do they? patrick's totally into pete, so much so that tyler thinks that his WHOLE FUCKING SOULMATE MARK is gonna change for pete, but patrick's not so convinced even though he really wants that to happen. pete's really into patrick, but he just feels guilty. but they have a talk after slam, after pete uses the word 'love' in a poem that's clearly about patrick. and they dont really get anywhere with it? they establish that patrick's got feelings and they establish that pete's not really ready yet but he Feels It Too. and they kiss, but their kiss gets interrupted by the sound of a motorcycle. and, as we all know because i made pete relive this shit every chapter, mikey died in a motorcycle accident! after pete goes home, he has this really shitty nightmare and we find out that pete and mikey were already in the works of adopting a kid!!!!! WHAT!!! WILD PATRICK WILD.
> 
> also, josh and tyler have some shit happening too. because this is an uma emeraldcitydowntowngirl fic, and if there are no side ships, is it really my fic?? so josh still doesnt know if his soulmate is dead, and tyler's still working thru some good ol soulmate trauma since his soulmate decided that he didnt love tyler since he's a transphobic piece of shit. and if you didnt catch on yet, tyler is trans.
> 
> AND THAT'S WHAT YOU MISSED ON EAPOTATO!

Pete wakes up with a jolt. He gasps, reaches his hand out to feel the empty space where Mikey should be, and then he falls back against his sweat-soaked pillows. His eyes are wide, and he stares up at the ceiling as he catches his breath.

 _Again_. He had the dream _again_.

He’s been having _the dream_ for the past 2 weeks. He would shoot himself if he owned a gun and if he wasn’t afraid that the after-life for him would just be _the dream_ on repeat.

He was supposed to be a father. He imagines it all the time. Sees it behind his eyes when he blinks. He and Mikey and a fucking kid. Imagines the in and out of their schedule, Mikey staying home with them when Pete’s handling the restaurant and Pete skipping on home and taking his place, and then at night, they would sleep in their bed together with the crib in the corner of the room. Pete would feel as safe as he did that night he fell asleep on the roof on Patrick. The room would be warm, or maybe that would be Mikey’s body-heat and he would wake up because of the baby crying and Pete would laugh to himself and tell them that they’re lucky that he’s a fucking insomniac. He imagines letting the baby sleep on his bare chest. He supposes that’s not how it actually works and being a parent isn’t that easy, but that’s what he imagines and that’s what he wants the most in the fucking world. And then he let it slip away from him. Like sand seeping through the spaces of his fingers. He did it to himself.

Clearly, his mind has begun to find joy in making Pete remember.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, wiping droplets of sweat off his forehead. “ _Fuck_.”

He checks the time, and he curses again when he sees that it’s only 3 in the morning. When the sky is dark and he’s got nothing better to do but feel sorry for himself. All he does is overthink and write shitty poetry that he should fucking burn. Nothing he does is good. All he is a shell of the person he used to be. All he is the leftover sand in the palm of his hand. What else is he supposed to do with himself when everything he’s ever wanted has been swiped away and he’s the one to blame.

He flips his pillow onto its other side, and he buries his head in the coolness of it. His fingers itch for his phone, to call Patrick, to call someone to hook up with, to listen to music, but Pete’s nothing if he’s not a self-sabotager. He wants to sleep but he can’t because he’s going to watch his nightmares unfold again, and he wants to be with Mikey, and he wants to be with Patrick, and there’s so much bullshit swimming around in his head that he can barely breathe.

He’s too old for this, but he cries like he’s a kid. Everything aches. His heart and his head. He never feels safe these days, nothing is warm like body-heat pressed against your chest. Everything just feels like a wet pillow under your head. So, bad.

* * *

As if it wasn’t hard enough getting himself out of bed and into the shower, and even putting on _pants_ , work was another obstacle in and of itself. Because it’s fun when he’s not in, y’know, a depressive episode. But now, everything just gives him a headache. Hayley’s jokes as she passes Pete his fourth cup of coffee for the day, Patrick’s worried glances when he thinks Pete can’t see, Tyler never fucking listening whenever Pete asks him to do something… even MJ and Sameer, who are always stable when Pete’s feeling unbalanced and about to fly off the deep end, even they’ve been getting under his skin.

It sounds so dramatic, but when it gets like this, he never thinks it’s gonna get better. Maybe it’ll always be like this. Headaches and the bitter taste of coffee in his mouth and getting up in the morning from a restless sleep and hating everything about himself.

The restaurant is worth living for, MJ and his family, and Gee, and maybe in another world Patrick would be too, but it’s... _Fucking exhausting_ to think about the ‘there’s so much to live for’ when everything’s got the color and the life sucked out of it. It’s getting harder and harder to convince himself not to take that leap of faith out of a hundred story high building when all of his mistakes and his past chase him to the window sill.

He’s writing this week’s set of poems on the Miscellaneous wall.

Pete’s hand stays strangely still as he writes with purple chalk his own poem. **_The light splashes in and out. Its almost violent. Everything rational inside of me tells me that its the dull white of a voicemail. But my eyes are playing tricks on me. I see it in purple textured velvet. The TV is blaring whatever. I can see light is sneaking in the cracks everywhere of this suite. Like vermin. Take a vote, the eyes have it. There is too much space here. Between me and everything else in this room. I wish I had a habit bad or not just to pass the time. Just trying to fight the big black sadness._ **

He signs it messily, a simple **_-PW_ ** , even though he doesn’t want to attach his name to it. He knows that no one even really fucking cares about the damn wall anyway, that he’s just fooling himself, but he wants his stuff to be good, and it just never _is_ anymore. Everything mimics his mood, _big black sadness_.

He’s standing in front of the half filled blackboard with a bunch of poems that still need to be copied. There’s something by Billy Joel over the radio that reminds him of Mikey, and he can hear Hayley taking someone’s order a couple of tables down from him. Everything feels normal, but there’s a buzzing in his ears and a sting in his eyes. Still, he tries to ignore it and tries to focus on the soreness in his arm instead. He wipes chalk on his black pants, and then glances down at the stack of poems.

The next poem is written in blocky handwriting that he recognizes, but…it’s not Ashley’s, or Hayley’s, or Tyler’s.

 

**Every word’s a new regret if you say it right, right?**

**Every wound can be forgotten in the right light**

**And depression is a little bit like happy hour, right?**

**It’s always got to be happening somewhere on any given night**

**Oh nostalgia, I don’t need you anymore**

**Cause the salad days are over and the meat is at my door**

**Cause I had a little bit of bad luck**

**Under this crumbling world, stuck**

**A little sweetness keeps just out of reach**

**Cause compassion is something that they just don’t teach**

**They might try to tell you how you can live your life**

**But don’t forget it’s your right to do whatever you like**

**You could be your own spotlight**

**_**_-pms_ ** _ **

 

Pete smiles a little to himself. _PMS_. Really...

The whole thing sounds like Patrick, if he thinks about it. The initials... the ‘salad days’ line… the rhyming in the beginning. He can hear it in Patrick’s voice if he thinks hard enough. The Chicago accent, the self-conscious laugh at the end. He runs his thumb over the scribbled poem even though he knows he won’t be able to feel the blue ink on his finger. Patrick’s blue to him, always. Cool and calm. Waves that Pete wants to dip his toes in, even though he might drown.

He glances around to find the nearest person that would probably know Patrick’s middle name. Gabe is no, Zack too. Maybe Hayley, but she’s actually doing her job, unlike- _Bingo_.

 _Tyler_ is a couple tables over, leaning against the wall as he texts on his phone. He blows a bubble with his gum, and when he and Pete lock eyes, he quickly slips his phone into his pocket.

“C’mere?” Pete asks, holding up Patrick’s(?) poem. “I have a question.”

Tyler squints at the poem, reading it from a distance. “Oh _shit_ , he really did it. I owe Sam 10 bucks.”

“Rick?” Pete asks, and he lets Tyler inspect the poem once he’s close enough. “Yeah, it’s Rick.”

Tyler hands the slip of paper back to Pete. “I told him that poem needed major work too, but _nooooooo_ , no one ever listens to me.”

Pete narrows his eyes at him, more so about the ‘no one ever listens to me’ line because _hello_ , but Tyler sighs in defeat. “Okay, fine, I told him that I loved it but I _did_ tell him that he needed some practice.”

“So… so you’re _sure_ this is his?” Pete reiterates, because if he’s gonna freak out about Patrick’s poem, it better actually be his.

Tyler nods. “Dude, I’m positive. Now that I think about it though, maybe it was supposed to be a secret… okay, I never said shit to you.”

“My lips are sealed,” Pete says and Tyler laughs before he can stop himself. “Yeah, can't relate. Okay, bye! Gonna go do my work! Totally!”

Pete’s left knowing a little more than he needs to… but he’s mostly stuck. Because, okay, he can’t read this poem and not picture Patrick sitting down and writing it and showing it to their friends for feedback. He thinks back to Patrick saying that he would never attempt to write, that he would totally suck at it, but he’s actually _trying_.

And Pete can’t say the same.

He and Patrick haven’t really talked since the night they kissed. The blue light, the May breeze, the revving of the motorcycle popping Pete’s picture perfect bubble of happiness. They’ve talked but they haven’t _talked_. ‘I like your hoodie’ and ‘This brownie is so good’ but not ‘Hey, I feel like shit, wanna rant together and maybe make out?’

He misses Patrick and he swears it’s not because of the making out thing. But he doesn’t deserve happiness. No second chances when you fuck up the first time so badly that someone _dies_.

He reads the poem over, ‘ ** _a little sweetness keeps just out of reach’,_ ** and he frowns. All he is is stale and bitter. Like the taste of coffee that sits in the back of his throat. He’s not sure that he fits any definition of ‘sweet’ but he clings to it all the same.

* * *

Catching Patrick alone is a lot harder of a task than Pete thought it was going to be. Because everyone loves Patrick, yeah, but mostly because Patrick doesn’t _let_ himself be alone. Pete sees Patrick alone for a moment, and then the next, he’s talking to Sam by the oven. Or MJ looks like she’s struggling with carrying something, and Patrick, sitting alone on his break, rushes over. The two of them are opposites like that, Pete and Patrick. Even in his best moods, Pete thrives by himself. Never the one to talk to strangers when he doesn’t have to. And Patrick just _does_ , and he’s always doing something, because everything is a good distraction.

However, it’s around 10 at night when it’s just the two of them in the kitchen. Patrick’s standing with a bunch of bare cupcakes and he’s filling up his icing pipes with red. His hair, like always, is tucked under a baseball cap, and the ribbon on his wrist is secured with a bow.

They glance up at each other at the same time- Patrick, looking for someone to talk to, and Pete, looking for the right time to jump in.

“Hey!” Pete says, a little loudly. “I didn’t- uh, yeah, see you there! What’s up!?”

 _Idiot_.

“Nothing?” Patrick says, phrased a little like a question even though it's a statement. “Work?”

“Yeah, I can see that…” Pete trails off, and he gives Patrick a nervous smile that he sincerely hopes doesn’t come off as creepy. But when Patrick smiles back at him, hands him a spare piping tool and pushes another bowl of blue icing his way, he knows he’s in the clear.

“Help me?” Patrick asks, and Pete nods as he reaches for a pair of gloves. “Just in spirals, kinda like roses. No one really cares for fancy designs after 10 o’clock.”

“Right,” Pete says, and he gets to work. He copies Patrick’s smooth motions, except his are a little messy. His hands are shaking, just in the slightest. The blue stains his gloves and he can’t help but feel like this is a really shitty metaphor.

“We haven’t talked in a while,” Patrick notes. His eyes are very much focused on the cupcake in front of him. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Not really,” Pete says conversationally. “Just usual Mikey bullshit. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry about it,” Patrick says back, lightly. “I’m sure it’s not bullshit.”

Pete puts his cupcake down and he sighs. “Listen. I’m just. Really fucked up about it still. And I know it’s not fair to you because we had that whole conversation, but everything is a fucking mess, and I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“We didn’t have a whole conversation,” Patrick says, setting down his cupcake too. This would be a lot more intense if they weren’t in a kitchen surrounded by 3 other people and weren’t holding _icing pipes_. “We didn’t have a whole conversation.  We had half a conversation and then we made out. That’s what happened. But it’s okay and I get it… like, I understand the whole soulmate thing. Clearly.”

He motions down to his ribbon. “I still can’t really look at myself in the mirror because of the guilt. We don’t have to be anything more than friends. I just wish we didn’t— whatever.”

“Didn’t _whatever_?” Pete asks, and he sees the quickest flare of anger in Patrick’s eyes when they gaze at each other.

“Didn’t stop talking to each other!” Patrick cries exasperatedly, opting out of full blown screaming. “What the fuck am I supposed to think when you practically run away after we kiss and then you don’t talk to me for 3 weeks?

“I haven’t been doing a lot of talking to _anyone_ ,” Pete says, shifting his gaze a little. Too embarrassed to look at Patrick even though his depression is nothing to be ashamed of. “It’s not personal. I promise. I know it was fucked up but it’s… like, hard to tell myself that it’s fucked up when I have… ‘usual Mikey bullshit’ swimming in my head. I swear, I wish I could like show you all of the garbage in my head like… make you super tiny so I could- wait, this is gonna get weird.”

Patrick laughs a little despite the fact that he’s still sort of pissed. “Yeah, I could kinda tell. I just hate not knowing what’s going on and being in the dark, but it’s fine, I just… communication, y’know. I would like that.”

“I would like that too,” Pete says, “it’s just hard sometimes.”

They stay silent for a moment, before Patrick says, “Well… we’re talking now, so I guess that’s good. I don’t know I just… missed you, s’all.”

“You missed me?” Pete asks, furrowing his eyebrows. He knows he’s pushing it a little, especially when Patrick gives him a _look_ , but he can’t really bring himself to care. Patrick wanted communication, _this_ is communication.

“Yeah, I missed you. You’re my friend, I miss when my friends don’t talk to me. I missed your weird, like, ‘oh, I wanna shrink you and then shove you in my ear so you can climb into my brain and read my thoughts’ kind of statements.”

“How’d you know that’s exactly what I was gonna say,” Pete asks, looking a little shocked, and Patrick just grins at him. “Because I know you, dumbass. Keep frosting the cupcakes.”

They continue frosting the cakes, Pete’s ‘a little worse for wear’ cupcakes look like shit next to Patrick’s, but they finish with a semi-redeemable set. Patrick says that they can use sprinkles to cover Pete’s mistakes, and when he returns with the rainbow ones, he says “Tyler told me that you know that the poem is mine?”

God, Pete wants to walk into a wall. And break his skull open.

“Yeah,” Pete says, “did he add the part where _he_ told _me_?”

“He did,” Patrick says. “Anyway- I tried it out! I know it’s not anything good in terms of _actual_ poetry, but it’s… like, good to me, I think. Besides the salad line. I was hungry. Seeing it on the wall made me feel stupid.”

“I thought the salad line was cute!” Pete laughs, and he playfully nudges Patrick’s shoulder with his own. “I’m proud, I thought it was good. I liked the nostalgia line a lot.”

“It’s mostly wishful thinking... but thanks,” he says, and when he smiles at Pete, it’s shy. “You’re the sweetest.”

The _‘a little sweetness keeps just out of reach’_ line echoes in Pete’s head. He’s not sure if Patrick meant to do that, but now he can’t stop his own wishful thinking. Just like Patrick said, letting go of the past is _wishful thinking._ And the two of them _just_ established that they’d be better off as friends ( _did they establish that? That’s what Pete got from that_ ), but his mind is running a mile an hour ( _That fast?)_. Jumping from soulmate guilt to this strange sort of love for Patrick and back to soulmate guilt.

“So… what’s been going on with you lately?” Pete asks, as Patrick puts that batch of cupcakes in the fridge. “Since we’re, y’know… friends.”

“Yes, we’re friends. And I’m okay… Tyler and Josh drama has been driving me crazy though. Like… okay, so Jess is still trying to find Josh’s soulmate, right, and that’s going bad. Like, really bad. And I think Josh is trying to ignore all of that, and he’s been going on more dates lately, but that in turn has been pissing Tyler off, so Tyler’s been going on more dates too, kinda to rival that, but that’s only- that’s only feeding the fire! But they’re not, like, they pretend like everything is cool? But nothing is cool! And–”

“Patrick,” Pete interrupts Patrick in the middle of his rant, and Patrick does a double take at Pete, like he forgot he was there. “I asked about _you_?”

“Oh,” Patrick says softly, and there’s a pause in their conversation, like he’s trying to figure out what to say. “Well… nothing. I’ve been writing music for the band… been here… been hanging around the crew nonstop… y’know…”

He peels his gloves off and tosses them in the garbage, and in that mix, the ribbon comes tumbling off. “I’ve been keeping myself busy, basically.”

Pete reaches down to grab it for him even though it sends a rush of blood to his head and makes him dizzy. The piece of felt, it's velvety, and feels nice against his fingers- there’s nothing offensive about it, but Pete wants to chuck it in the garbage.

Nevertheless, when he comes back up, Patrick’s holding his hand out… a silence plea for Pete to tie it for him. The **SHANE MORRIS** etched into Patrick’s skin, it makes Pete’s stomach lurch in the way that it always does, except now it’s even worse. He’s sure it’s all in his head, but the mark looks angrier and more pronounced.

“Does it hurt?” Pete asks, and Patrick nods as he lifts his hand a little, so that Pete can wrap the ribbon around his wrist. “Yeah, I don’t know what it is. It’s so- like, soulmate marks are so _fucky_ , I don’t get it. Tyler said it might be my mark changing, but I doubt that.”

That suggestion sends a chill through Pete’s body, one that causes him to accidentally brush his fingers on the mark, and _that_ causes Patrick to shout, because of the rush of dopamine and ecstasy. So, for a moment, they’re both thrown off track.

“ _Shit_ ,” Patrick says, a little breathlessly. “That was intense.”

“He thinks your mark might change? To what?” Pete asks, trying to ignore the way that Patrick’s lips are parted, the way that the smallest touch to his mark had him… well, the way it has him. He’s still a little breathless and red in the face.

“Uh… I dunno,” Patrick lies. “I was thinking more like to nothing…? I dunno! I’m not entertaining that one, I think it’s more like the universe trying to punish me for not being around him. It’s just, it’s just really sensitive to other people, I guess. I don’t really have people, um, touching it, ever, so.”

“Like, does it feel good?” Pete asks before he stop himself, and Patrick turns an even deeper shade of red. “I don’t know. Just feels like a shock.”

 _You’re such a creep_ , Pete tells himself as he pictures himself pressing a hickey over it. Of Patrick’s eyes rolling back and him almost sliding down the wall because of the pleasure, but Pete keeping him still as he sucked over a name that isn't even his.

 _This_ is what fucks Pete up so bad. The nightmares about Mikey but the daydreams of Patrick. Because not all of them are about getting Patrick off. A lot of them are just simple things… Patrick laughing at one of Pete’s shitty jokes so hard that he cries… and, and Pete crawling into Patrick’s bed and playfully biting his earlobe and grinning when Patrick flipped them over or Pete resting his head in Patrick’s lap, or Patrick hooking his ankles with Pete’s under the tables, or even Patrick playing guitar in the May weather on the balcony, singing softly and smiling up at Pete shyly.

And all of his nightmares about Mikey are so violent that they shatter those in seconds. Pete holding Mikey’s lifeless body in his arms and watching him decay in seconds until the face he’s known and seen in dreams for his whole life turns into mush, and of Mikey sobbing and asking Pete why he did it, why he killed him, or the worst ones, where he relives all of their memories, but Mikey brushes Pete off and pretends like he’s not there. And when Pete’s voice is hoarse from begging and asking why he won’t talk to him, Mikey tells him that if he wants to pretend so bad that his name isn’t on his wrist, then Mikey might as well pretend like Pete was never there either. He says this in the college dorm, and on their wedding day, and in the adoption agency office.

Pete’s caught in the middle.

“Oh,” Pete says, pulling himself out of his thoughts. “I’ll try to avoid it, sorry, you just kinda surprised me. Here, give me your wrist again?”

Patrick does, and Pete ties the ribbon the best he can with his shaking hands. He finishes it off with a bow since he knows that Patrick likes that, and he swallows hard. “Do you think you’d stop wearing it if your mark changed?”

“If my mark changed, I’d probably put my faith in God again,” Patrick laughs humorlessly. “But yeah, probably. I don’t know. Why, do you think it’s ugly?” he teases, and Pete shakes his head. “No, I just. I hope that day comes soon, you know? You… you deserve good things, really.”

He knows there are tears forming in his eyes, but it’s okay, because when he smiles shakily at Patrick, Patrick’s got tears in his eyes too. He says this part slowly, because he’s struggling for words. “Really… you deserve someone who’ll… I don’t fucking know. Make you laugh so hard that you cry. And who’ll let you sing on the balcony outside the room even though it’s 6 in the morning.”

Patrick brings the back of his hand to his eyes, and he laughs tearfully. “Yeah, well. Maybe in another life that could have been us.”

“The one where we had each other’s names?” Pete asks, and Patrick shakes his head. “The one where we didn’t have names to bother with in the first place. The one where I just fell in love with you because I loved you.”

Pete can feel a headache coming on, almost like he can feel his nightmares brewing in his head. _Let’s see what fucked up shit we can come up with to make up for this_. But Pete’s already living one. The one where he fucks everything up. He caused Mikey to die, and he’s causing the watery and sad eyes in front of him. He’s living in a universe where Patrick says shit like ‘ _I love you_ ’, and Pete can’t do a thing in return but say that he's sorry.

He doesn't know what to do but look at Patrick and cry. What is he supposed to _say_ to that?

“It always ends up like this, doesn't it?” Patrick asks, dabbing at his face with his sleeve. “Us just being emo and crying.”

“It just sucks,” Pete says softer, and when Patrick reaches over to brush away tears from Pete’s face, Pete almost thinks he's leaning in to kiss him. _Wishful thinking_. “It just– yeah.”

They stay like that for a while. Speaking in soft voices and holding each other's hands, tucking pieces of hair behind each other’s ears. But they both know that they’re headed nowhere fast. At least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was so short!!!! me and n my beta reader aka my bff ally moley thought that this was a good moment to end so that, and in her own words, 'adding anything else would kinda feel like it's taking away from the moment', so if you got a problem u gotta take it up with her!
> 
> my last update was the day after the 1st day of my second college semester, and this update comes after midterms and during spring break. needless to say, this semester is kicking my ass! still, im really sorry it's taking me forever. and i know that i returned with a shitty filler chapter, but i actually /cant/ berate myself about this chapter anymore than i already have so... i hope this was enjoyable! i know its slow but its gonna pick up soon, i promise. this is gonna be 20 chapters if i stay on track, so we still got a lot of stuff left to go! thanks for keeping up w the fic and reading it and leaving kudos and comments. i know it doesnt seem like im thankful since my updates are so sparse, but i promise, i really do appreciate it <3333
> 
> im gonna try to update within the next few days since i meant for this chapter to be longer! also "saturday night" is better than "silver lining" BUT i love the 'its just cherries, cherries, everything is cherries on top' lyric SO MUCH. conflicted!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***WARNING: the second and fourth section of this chapter talks a fair amount about patrick's abuse, so let me know if you want me to summarize it for you!!***
> 
> anyways im really sorry that this is so long, its like,,, 15k words lmao. but i didnt wanna separate it into two different chapters bc then it messes up plans for the next chapter and just. AGH. sorry!! im really gonna try to keep it the usual 8k... but these past chapters have been a little all over the place n i really do apologize for that jsdhsahdsajd ok im done babbling, enjoy!!!

When Patrick said that Tyler and Josh drama was occupying most of his time, he wasn’t lying. Tyler and Josh drama was affecting _everyone_. Whether it was the dark circles under Sameer’s eyes from staying up talking to Tyler on the phone (“It’s fine, I’ve been doing it since high school, it’s not- whatever, it’s not bothering me, I’m not as think as you tired I am” “Sam. Sam, honey. Wrong order.” “…Okay, maybe I’m a little tired”), or Ashley and Hayley having to let Josh crash at their place because Josh didn’t want to stay in the apartment while Tyler was with someone, or Tyler catching Patrick on his breaks hanging out in Pete’s office and dragging him out so they could complain about heartache over pizza.

Long stories short, of Sam falling asleep in the break room on the floor, of Ashley having to stop herself from throwing knives at Josh when she forgot that he was staying over, of Pete burying his head in his hands once he say Tyler storm into his office, of MJ and Josh taking walks in the middle of the day, and of band practice being complete hell, Tyler and Josh’s drama wasn’t so much _Tyler and Josh’s_ drama as it was _everyone’s drama._

“Do you want some Baileys in your coffee?” Ashley asks Patrick, holding a half-empty bottle of Irish Cream. “We can make tonight, like, ten times more entertaining.”

“What’s not entertaining about watching shitty straight people BDSM movies?” Hayley teases, even though she grabs the bottle from Ashley’s hands and pours some into her own coffee mix that’s sitting in the blender. “According to Twitter, people masturbated with vegetables in the theatres opening weekend.”

“I’m good!” Patrick pipes up from the couch, in response to Ashley’s question, just as Ashley shrieks with laughter. “ _V_ _egetables?_ Ew! Imagine, like, ‘hey, our salad isn’t gonna have any carrots in it tonight, I needed to borrow it to massage my pussy’.”

Hayley lowers her voice and says, still mimicking, “That’s super hot, babe. Maybe you _should_ put it in the salad, that’ll spice up our sex life for sure. Instead of ranch, I wanna use _your_ sauce, if ya know what I mean.”

Hayley and Ashley continue giggling even after they hear Patrick shout “Oh my _God_ , that’s so gross, stop!”, and they return back to couch with three coffees and a bunch of cupcakes that were left over from work a moment later.

“I have the movie pulled up and I- I still don’t know why we’re subjecting ourselves to this,” Patrick says, scooching over a little so that the three of them fit on the couch. He’s all wrapped up in a pink blanket, and he takes his cup of coffee gratefully.

The three of them are watching “Fifty Shades of Grey” as a sort of stress reliever from everything going on at work. There’s no real reason for that movie to be _that movie_ , it was just that ‘Love Me Like You Do’ was on the radio when Ashley was driving everyone home, and the three of them were scream-singing lyrics at the top of their lungs. That led to, “hey, let’s hang out and get drunk and make fun of it!” “Okay!”, and now they’re here. At 11pm, getting all cozy to watch Fifty Shades.

“Because nowhere in Fifty Shades do I have to hear Tyler and Josh complaining,” Ashley says, with a little bitterness on her tongue that quickly fades when she sighs. “I- I feel bad, _I do_ , but I can’t do it anymore. Or, I can, I just… need a break.”

“I feel bad for Sam the most,” Hayley says, peeling the wrapper off one of Patrick’s cupcakes. “I mean, they’re brothers basically, they’ve been friends since like… fucking forever, but jeez… I would have snapped a long time ago.”

Patrick’s… a little torn. Because he actually _gets_ it. For the longest time, it felt like everyone was behind his and Pete’s bullshit (and in a way, they still are- even though things with Pete are tamer than they’ve ever been… besides the usual crying session), and before that, it felt like Patrick was running from person to person to talk about Shane, because if he didn’t say anything, it was all going to stay bottled up inside. And even though it’s… let’s say _irritating_ , sometimes, to hear about the same thing over and over again, Patrick understands. The story changing every single time, because the feeling is constantly changing, it’s either ‘screw that guy’ or ‘why am I like this’ or ‘I need to stop obsessing about this’ or ‘I haven’t thought about this enough’ or ‘he’s the worst person on the planet’ or ‘I’m the worst person on the planet’.

He understands both Josh and Tyler’s sides of the story, even though he sort of thinks Tyler is being inconsiderate about the whole thing. The whole ‘I’m gonna play Josh out and not tell him how I feel and I’m going to keep leading him on but nothing is gonna come out of it because Josh’ll leave me just like everyone leaves me, so what’s the point’ thing.

“I… I dunno,” Patrick sighs, before he takes a sip of his coffee. “On one hand, everyone had to endure it with Pete and I, so it’s my turn. But on the other, it’d be nice to actually have a break while I’m on break.”

“You aren’t having a break while you’re on break,” Hayley says, smiling because she’s teasing him, “you’re making out with Peeeete.”

Ashley shakes her head. “Nah, babe, ‘they’re just friends’.”

Patrick makes sure that the both of them see him roll his eyes, but he laughs along when they burst into laughter. “We really are, I swear! I’ve been forced into stuff I didn’t wanna do before, the last thing I wanna do is force Pete into something that his heart isn’t 100% in, especially when it’s me.”

And he actually means this, for the most part. Sometimes, though, when he lies awake in his bed, the only thing he can imagine is Pete curled up next to him. Wearing glasses and reading a book and then draping himself over Patrick’s side when Patrick gets under the covers. Pete, he kisses Patrick’s neck and his stubble scratches but Patrick revels in it. Or, he pictures the two of them in the shower, and Pete’s hands, soapy and shower warm on his soulmate mark, and Patrick lurching forward to kiss Pete, to silence his moans, because it feels that good.

Hmmm. Wishful thinking.

Anyway– he’s fine with being friends, because Pete’s love for Mikey is stronger than any love he’s known his whole life. Pete’s just someone that’s hot and someone who was there for him when he really needed him, and there’s nothing there in a romantic sense… is what he tells himself. And denial is working, at least for now. Any future with Pete would be… weird. The guilt would probably eat the both of them alive.

“I get it,” Hayley says, and she rests a reassuring hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “But I was not of a fan of the ‘when it’s me’ you attached at the end. Anyone would be lucky to love you. Shane is subhuman, that’s why he didn’t count.”

Patrick just shrugs. “Maybe. Okay, press play?”

And for a good hour, everything is well with the world. Patrick’s laughing at Anna’s hairstyle and how she has the same set of front bangs as Ashley and Hayley, Ashley’s ranting about how manipulative Christian is being, and Hayley’s singing along to the soundtrack like she’d secretly downloaded the entire thing, and they’re having a _good time_ , yelling at the screen and laughing until their stomachs hurt.

But because this is Patrick’s life, all good things come to harsh halt.

It starts with texts on Ashley’s phone from Sameer that she doesn’t even really pay attention to, and a missed call on Hayley’s that she meant to pick up but got distracted because she was singing along to The Weeknd’s ‘Earned It’. But then there’s a call on their landline, and the three of them glance at each other when they see that it’s Sam again.

“I’ll get it,” Patrick says, leaning over the side of the couch to pick up the phone. “It’s Rick.”

“Yeah, hi,” Sam says, sounding a little rushed. “Listen, can you tell Ash to look at her phone? I sent her a bunch of texts.”

“What happened?” Patrick asks, and he motions to Ashley’s phone and mouths ‘he texted you’ to her. “Like… no one’s dead, right?”

“Uh…” Sam says, and Patrick’s eyes widen as he continues to ramble. “No, not any of us! Well, okay, but- it’s Josh’s soulmate.”

“Oh shit,” Patrick says, and judging from the way that Ashley’s carefree and happy expression drops, she can tell from the messages on her phone as well. “Fuck… I mean, what are-“

“I don’t know,” Sameer sighs. “But- okay, my phone is gonna die in a second, just read the texts?”

“Yeah… yeah definitely,” Patrick swallows hard and the two of them say their goodbyes before Patrick hangs up the phone. “ _Fuck_.”

Hayley looks between the two of them with a worried expression. “So… what happened?!”

And then she drinks out her third spiked iced coffee.

“I’ll just read what he said,” Ashley says, before she takes a deep breath and begins to read from her phone. “So, he said- ‘So shit just hit the fan. Jess and I are in the middle of’ dot dot dot… capital letters ‘STUFF and then she got a call from the office, and getting a call from her job at midnight is not good, clearly. So she’s talking on the phone and they tell her that Josh’s soulmate Debby is’ capitals letters ‘DEAD. So she turns to me and tells me and they tell her that they already contacted Josh so now we’re racing to put on fucking clothes and rush over because Tyler went out tonight and you know he’s gonna be a smug piece of shit about it. And I love Tyler but I know him and I’ve known him and he just is, and he’s not gonna know that this girl is’ capital letters followed by, like, a trillion exclamation points, ‘DEAD!!!!!!!!!!!! I don’t know how they know, Jess said something about the blood matching up and everything correlates and not to mention Josh’s whole fucking name on her wrist and they just’ capitals letters ‘KNOW it’s her and she’s been dead for years. Anyways we’re here and Josh is holding up I guess. He’s just kind of quiet and he’s drinking a lot and I wanna stay but Jess still has work in the morning so could one of you come and stay with him while I drop Jess home?’ question mark followed by the distraught emoji, y’know, with the tear coming out, and then ‘I really hate to do it and I know that you guys are hanging out trying to get away from the drama but I think this is where it stops being drama and starts being actually important. I’m gonna come back but if one of you could just keep him company because I don’t think he’s gonna do anything stupid but I’ve gone through too much shit with Tyler to not at least take precautions. Thanks a bunch’.”

She takes a deep breath, drinks out of her coffee mug, and then she sighs sadly. “And then he just sent me a bunch of texts just trying to get my attention. But- oh my _God_ , guys what the _fuck_.”

“Well… we gotta gooooooo!” Hayley exclaims, and then she face-palms. “Okay, I’m kinda drunk.”

“Should I take an Uber?” Ashley asks, with a frown. “I’m kinda tipsy too, and I don't know if-”

“I’ll drive,” Patrick says, turning to Ashley. “If you trust me with Nora?”

Nora is Ashley’s car.

“Are you sure?” Ashley asks. “I don't mind going alone.”

Patrick shakes his head. “You guys are like… kinda family at this point, I don't mind coming along especially when you guys helped me out during all of my shit. And I can be guardian since you and Hayley are-”

“Shitfaced,” Hayley completes his sentence. “We’re both kinda shitfaced.”

“I’m not _that_ drunk,” Ashley tries to defend herself, but then she sighs. “Okay, no, I tried to eat you out two minutes ago while Patrick was sitting right there.”

“Patrick wouldn't have minded!” Hayley whines, and Patrick laughs. “Uhhh, _yeah_ , I would have minded. Definitely would have minded.”

“I don’t trust Nora with anyone,” Ashley goes back to the subject suddenly, but she stands up, and wraps her blanket around her. “But I’m gonna trust her with you, Trick, because you’re right. We’re a family, we’re iconic, and we gotta _go_.”

They’re all in pajamas, and Ashley’s still wearing her blanket, but they make their way down to the parking garage all the same. Hayley’s still munching on a cupcake, and she climbs into the backseat of the car easily. Ashley hands Patrick her keys, Patrick steps into the driver’s seat, and they drive. The ride there is anxious... like no one knows what to say, or how they’re gonna react, or what’s going to happen. The songs on the radio are a little off, like Patrick knows them but not enough, and it feels like they’ve entered this sort of cursed timeline. Hayley’s in the back playing the license plate game with herself, except she’s just yelling out “Illinois!” over and over again since all the cars on the road are from the state.

And after Patrick struggles to parallel park for 10 minutes straight (“I can't do this, there are people _staring_ and _waiting_ for me to fuck up!”), they get in the elevator to meet Josh, Jess, and Sam.

“Wait, keep it open!” a familiar voice calls out as the elevator doors are about to close, and Ashley jams the ‘ _CLOSE’_ button a little too late because Tyler jumps into the elevator, looks at the three friends, looks down at his phone, looks back up, and then jerks back. “The hell?”

“It’s a long story,” Hayley says, and then she frowns, licks her thumb, and makes a feeble attempt to rub some lipstick from Tyler’s cheek.

Ashley’s already got her phone out, texting Sam about their unexpected guest.

“So… start fucking talking?” Tyler asks, looking confused as ever. “Are you guys throwing me a surprise birthday party? My birthday is December 1st!”

“You’re so fucking self-centered, you know that?” Ashley rolls her eyes, and Tyler raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything about it. Patrick, though, is good at reading emotions like that, and Tyler seems a little hurt. He looks down at his feet, embarrassed, and then they all reach Tyler’s floor, Tyler’s the last to leave the elevator.

Sam and Jessica are already outside Josh and Tyler’s front door, and before Tyler can say anything, Sameer pulls him aside roughly, and they start walking down the hall, past the apartment. “Hey, what-“ “Shut up?” “Oh shit, I know that tone of voice, what’s up?”

“I wish I had the power to do that,” Ashley says, looking past Jess’s shoulder to see Sam and Tyler huddled together, walking. “The power to shut Tyler up.”

Jess gives her a tired smile. “Yeah, well. Thanks for coming over.”

“No problem,” Ash says, and then she leans in to give her a hug. “I really thought that… I don’t know. I really thought good things were going to come out of the wait. Like it was going to be all worth it.”

“I think we all did, babe,” Hayley says, and then she sighs sadly too as she leans her head on Patrick’s shoulder. “This is saaaaad.”

When Tyler and Sam reach the end of the hall and turn back around close enough to reach everyone, Tyler looks _tired_ and speaks like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I think I’m gonna come with these two for a drive, I can’t- I mean, I don’t even know what to say. I just need to breathe a little.”

“And you still have lipstick all over your face,” Patrick says, trying to tease him a little, but Tyler nods and says with a straight face, “Yeah… that too.”

“I’ll be back,” Sam promises the three of them again, and when Josh makes a grand appearance at the door, Tyler looks a little sick. Like he's guilty, even though there's nothing he could have done about the whole situation.

“I don’t need babysitters,” Josh says, and he leans his head and arm against the doorframe and closes his eyes, trying to keep himself balanced. “I don’t need to be kept on suicide watch.”

“Just humor me a little, then,” Sameer says, and Josh sighs. “Yeah... whatever.”

And that’s the best Sam decides he’s gonna get out of Josh, because he pulls his car keys from out of his pocket. “I’ll be back in an hour, I’ll bring food.”

“McDonalds?!” Hayley pipes up, and Ashley leans over to laugh in the crook of her shoulder.

And then… there were four.

* * *

About 15 minutes later, the four of them find themselves sitting in Josh and Tyler’s bathroom. Josh is sitting in the bathtub, fully clothed since there’s no water in the tub, and Ashley’s crouched down next to him, working blue dye into his hair. Hayley’s napping, sitting on the lid of the toilet seat and leaning her head on the dirty sink with the day-old toothpaste stuck to the side. And Patrick, he’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub, mostly watching on.

There’s a backstory to this, but it’s not that interesting: Josh just wanted to get his mind off, y’know, his dead soulmate, and his hair needed a touch-up, and everyone’s go-to girls for hair dye were right there. Oh, and Patrick. He feels a little out of place, like always, but everyone is quiet anyway. Hayley’s asleep, Josh is drinking, and Ashley’s deep in concentration.

“Thanks for this,” Josh says softly, as Ashley massages his scalp. “And for coming. I know I was acting like a dick earlier. I’m just not in a good mood. Clearly.”

Patrick doesn’t know Josh as well as he knows… honestly, all of them. Josh is the quiet one, the one that everyone likes because it’s _Josh_ , and Josh is… Josh is just _Josh_. That’s not a good description but he just _is._

But even Patrick knows Josh’s mood is all wrong.

Josh is too nice for this to be happening to him. When Patrick thinks about Josh, he just pictures Josh grinning as he rocks out on the drums, and Josh cuddling with Sam’s cat. Josh is the calm one out of them, the underdog. Where Tyler is loud and brash, Josh is steady and relaxed.

“It’s okay,” Ashley says to him, and she presses her dye-stained gloves on his old tee-shirt, over his shoulder, as an act of comfort. “We love you, J. A little bit of warranted drama wouldn’t change that.”

“It’s not warranted, it’s stupid,” Josh says, speaking into his knees, where they’re pressed against his chest. “I should have seen it coming from a million miles away.”

Ashley and Patrick share the same worried glance.

“All I am is patient,” Josh says. “That’s all everyone ever tells me. _Patience. Be patient._ Where the fuck did that get me? Fucking nowhere.”

Ashley and Patrick are silent. Mostly because they both know that it’s best to just let each other rant.

He speaks to his knobby knees. “I feel so stupid… that’s all. Twenty-six years of wishful thinking.”

Oh, Patrick knows about wishful thinking. That’s been his whole life. Being with Shane and just thinking that their horrible nine year streak was just a rough patch. Wishful thinking. Kissing Pete in the blue light and thinking for a fucking second there was something there. Wishful thinking.

“At least it’s over now?” Ashley tries to sound hopeful, but it’s not really hitting. “At least… at least we know now? Maybe now, everything with-”

“Don’t bring Tyler up,” Josh sighs. “I don’t wanna talk about him anymore. I thought we were best friends, but I guess not. Because where is he? Not here.”

“I think he’s just… confused,” Patrick says softly, and Josh shrugs. “Doesn’t really mean anything to me now. _I’m_ the confused one. I don’t want to worry about him right now. I just need a night to be selfish.”

“Go ahead,” Ash says, going back to massaging dye into his hair. “Trix and I are all ears.”

Josh shakes his head. “Not like this. I just wanna curl up in a ball and listen to my music in the dark and ignore everyone. No offense. I just need space and I know that’s not really ‘our’ thing, but I don’t know what to do with my life now… like, I never thought it’d be like this. Dropping out of school and falling in love with my best friend and fighting with myself because I’m supposed to love this person who I’ve never met and feel virtually nothing for, yet I see her behind my eyes when I close them… with, with red hair and brown eyes and iced coffee stained teeth. And that’s supposed to be my future, but apparently not, since she’s been dead for like, nine years, and all of that was… was wasted!”

Patrick thinks about nine years wasted, and starting fresh. Looking in the mirror the day after he left Shane and not recognizing the person that stared back. Feeling lost because a life that he’s known for nine years, nine Christmases and birthdays and Valentine’s Days that he spent crying in his room, was gone and who was he if not his memories anymore? Of not knowing what the fuck the point of living was if he just had to start all over again. Of not knowing who he was if he wasn’t this thing, this _label_ that was always attributed to him. Shane’s soulmate. His husband. His submissive, docile, speak-when-spoken-to husband. Didn’t know his body like it was his, because it wasn’t, it was Shane’s. Right down to dark hickies on his thighs that he did _not_ want, and the-

Patrick blinks a couple of times, trying to bring himself back to real time. Hayley snoring a couple feet away, Josh and Ashley’s blue hair, the pink razor in the corner of the tub that’s tinged with a red that doesn’t look quite like rust. _Right_. Josh is still talking and he needs to be in the present for it.

Josh’s voice is broken and he sniffles in between every couple of words. “I feel so lost, like I don’t even know what to do anymore. It’s like… l-l-like my one lifeline is gone. Not, not my _only_ one, but the one that, that I’m supposed to have! The one that’s supposed to be there when nothing is and now it’s gone and it was never really there in the first place but it was supposed to be and what if–”

He doesn’t continue at this point. He just kinda shuts down, like his words are worthless. He sits in silence but Patrick knows he’s continuing that train of thought in his head and letting it go off the rails into crazy territory.

“It’s gonna be okay, Josh. Really,” Patrick says. “I know you don’t wanna hear that right now, but… but it will be. I’m living it right now, it’s– it’s not perfect and sometimes I do wanna just… I don’t know, do something crazy like kill myself, but there’s good that comes out of the hurt. Something so unexpected is gonna come out of the blue and life will move on. And you know that it’s not the same, I’m just saying, but… I’m just saying, like… sometimes it feels like your whole life is over because you spent so much time convincing yourself that something was gonna come true and when it comes crashing down in front of your fucking face, it feels like the end. But it’s not.”

“You’re right. It’s not the same,” Josh says, but he gives Patrick an appreciative enough glance. “I’m just being dramatic.”

“No, Joshua,” Ashley sighs. “You’re just feeling appropriate feelings. You’re not being dramatic, so stop brushing it off like it’s just drama when it’s _not_. Also, I gotta wash this out of your hair. Let’s move this to the kitchen sink.”

Two minutes later, and the three of them are in the kitchen, washing out dye next to dirty plates, until coffee cups fill with bright blue water.

“If I call it drama then I can pretend like I can get the fuck over it,” Josh says, and then he winces. “The water is too hot, Ash, _ow_.”

Ashley makes the water a little bit colder. “Sorry, sorry.”

Patrick’s holding the towel and mostly making sure that these half-drunk idiots don’t end up in a predicament where Josh gets water in his nose, or something. But Ashley is strangely put together, save for her super slow movements. Patrick feels a little useless again, but he knows this isn’t about him, even if he can so easily relate.

All of the Shane stuff has been pushed to the back of his mind but it’s so easy now, at one in the morning, in the dark kitchen, standing away from the action, to remember just how broken Shane left him. Shane left him like this. Drinking a lot and feeling irrational for being upset. Maybe with a little more wear and tear, but still. Patrick can recall nights like this. Drinking in his room and things being so stale with Andy because he didn’t like alcohol, but it was the only thing that Patrick wanted to do. Sit in his room and drink everything away because he couldn’t stand to remember it, but at the same fucking time, he didn’t know who he was without those memories and without Shane. And for a while, Patrick just existed. Too drunk to even think. Until Andy said that he was totally and completely over Patrick feeling sorry for himself if all he was going to do was buy alcohol, and told him to just get a fucking job to fill his time. Which Patrick is still thankful for, a million times over.

It’s nights like these when Patrick remembers just how _not_ over Shane he really is. It’s easy to think about Pete, and to daydream about Pete, and to wake up in the middle of night and get himself off to fantasies of Pete, but Shane’s always gonna be there, just like right now. It’s like Patrick can feel him all over, like it’s the night that he left all over again. With the ache in his hips and the bruises around his wrists. He’s in his head and he’s on Patrick’s wrist no matter how much fabric Patrick puts over it as an alternative to straight up slicing through it.

He was a goddamn fool for thinking that he could have pushed thoughts of him away, locked them in the back of his mind and expected it to never come flooding out.

But he tries to remind himself of his friends and his new life, just to take his own advice. Starting over was difficult and it still is and sometimes Patrick still feels that pull in his chest to go back to the place that he once called home even though it was the furthest thing from that, but he’s- he’s happier here. He’s happier here even on nights like these, when everything turns to shit. When he’s reminded that nothing is perfect and that in beauty there’s ugliness. Like his friends that drink a little too much because there’s so much hurt in all of them, and his friends that are sometimes mean to each other because they can be selfish. Because he knows that in his friends, there’s genuine warmth and good intent and there was never, ever, _ever_ any of that in Shane.

There’s family in his friends that he never found in his ‘family’ with Shane. Family that was never decided from birth, nothing that was ever in his blood or written in bold on his wrist. Instead, they’re bonded by moments like these. Silence in dark kitchens and knowing glances when someone says something a little too sharp about themselves.

“Ricky?” Ashley calls out, and Patrick snaps back to it. “Towel?”

Patrick hands it to her, and she gently nudges at Josh’s shoulders so that he’ll sit up. She ties a towel hat in Josh’s hair, and once she’s done, she sighs happily, leaning against Patrick for support. “All done!”

It’s still a shitty night. Nothing about Patrick’s revelation about his chosen family makes it better. Josh is still miserable. But when Sam and Tyler come back to the apartment, with bags of McDonalds, and when all of them sit on the floor and eat chicken nuggets and throw French fries at each other, the night gets a little brighter.

* * *

Pete knows something is up. He’s not sure _what_ … but he knows there’s something. Everyone’s been unusually quiet… Tyler has stopped barging into his office to rant about Josh, which would be a good thing, except Tyler and Josh seem even more distant than before. Pete knows this not because he actually, y’know, keeps up with the drama, but because he isn’t pulling the two of them off each other with a, _you both are working right now so why do you think it’s appropriate to be dry-humping in the middle of the restaurant?!_ And MJ has been spending more and more time with Josh, so he can’t ask her what’s up, and Ashley nor Hayley nor Sameer will tell Pete, and–

He just wants to know! He doesn’t like the energy in the restaurant anymore… it’s super stale. Tired eyes and soft sighs and there’s none of the loud laughing that he pretends to hate because they’re supposed to be working. He considers himself, like… their severely emotionally compromised dad. Or something. He doesn't like seeing his employees, and more importantly, his _friends_ upset.

“Trick!” Pete calls out across the kitchen, just as Patrick hangs his apron up, ready to leave for the day. “Can we talk for a second?”

“I don’t know why he says that when they spend, like, _hours_ talking,” Pete hears Tyler say to Sam, and judging from the exasperated glance Patrick sends Tyler’s way, he heard it too.

“Don’t mind him,” Patrick says, playfully rolling his eyes since he knows Tyler is watching and waiting for something to gossip about. “I don’t mind talking. Your office?”

“Are you going home? I can give you a ride,” Pete says, holding up his keys. He swears he didn’t plan this.

“Oh… Yeah, sure… I was gonna take the bus anyway. Let me just run and get my jacket.”

Patrick heads to the break room to grab his jacket… even though it’s the day after Memorial Day, and it’s going to be June in a couple of days. Pete can, just barely, remember Patrick complaining about it one day. _Yeah, I don’t know. I just hate my arms. And every part of myself. Haha._

If Pete had his way, Patrick wouldn’t feel that way. But then again, if Pete had his way, a lot about his life would be drastically different. He pictures himself on a beach, his hair without the perm, so it’s all curly. And he pictures blowing Patrick. Hot sun on his wet skin and saltiness on his tongue.

Yikes.

He runs his hand through his sticky-with-product and straightened hair, just to remind himself of where he is.

When Patrick returns, still shrugging his denim-jacket-with-the-sleeves-halfway-rolled-up on, he asks, “Can we stop by Starbucks? I want iced coffee.”

And Pete’s totally whipped for him, his _friend_ , so he agrees. He holds the door open for Patrick as they leave the restaurant, and when Patrick smiles at him, he feels legitimate _butterflies_ in his belly. Even though they get drowned in, like, stomach acid, when he remembers Mikey, when he smells the summer air and thinks back to their 4th of Julys.

“So, what’s up?” Patrick asks, buckling his seat-belt. He searches in his jacket for something, and when he slips on a pair of sunglasses and looks at Pete, with the wind blowing through his hair from the open windows, Pete’s thinking it might be love.

“No one is telling me what’s… like, what happened?” Pete asks, speaking over the Kehlani song on the radio, staring out at the local streets through his own pair of sunglasses. Coasting on the road, through traffic, it’s not glamorous. Especially not since everyone’s got their windows down, so all of the music coming out the cars turns into an ugly mash-up. But Patrick, in those fucking sunglasses, leaning his arm along the open window sill… he’s so different from Mikey. Who would have a cigarette dangling from his fingers, who would have a hand resting on Pete’s upper thigh. Who would look at Pete with confidence, not look at Pete with the slight unease that comes with liking someone. Like every move would send the wrong signal.

“Like, with Josh and Tyler, I mean,” Pete elaborates when Patrick hasn’t said anything. “The tension is ruining the atmosphere of the restaurant.”

Patrick doesn’t look very amused at Pete’s joke. “I’m… er, joking… kinda.”

“I know,” Patrick says, and then he sighs. “It’s just, like. Bad.”

“My joke?” Pete asks, confusion set on his face, and Patrick brings a hand to his forehead. “ _No_ , not your joke. The whole Josh and Tyler situation? It… it’s messy.”

“Yeah… how so?” Pete asks, once again. They reach a stoplight, so Pete turns to look at Patrick. “Everyone’s been keeping me in the dark about it.”

“I think that’s because it’s supposed to be _private_ ,” Patrick says airily. “But I won’t lie to you… so, yeah. No one’s told you about it because it’s ugly and stressful and the night we all found out wasn’t a good one. Josh’s soulmate is… uh, passed away. That’s why he’s been so down in the dumps.”

 _Oh_. Pete turns away from Patrick as the light turns green, and the two of them sit in ‘silence’ for a good minute or two. He tries to focus on the road ahead of him. Dead soulmates… yeah, everyone knows that’s a ‘touchy’ subject for him. Which is dumb, because–

“I’m not a baby, I can handle news like that,” Pete says, copying the light tone of Patrick’s voice. “Death is… I mean, Josh is going to be okay. It wasn’t his fault.”

“And Mikey dying wasn’t your fault either,” Patrick says quickly and sharply, and when Pete glances over at Patrick, Patrick doesn’t look sorry for saying it. “But you act like it was and it’s not. It was an accident.”

Pete’s hands grip the wheel a little harder. No, Patrick is wrong about that. It _was_ his fault. His dreams constantly remind him of that. The sweaty palms that feel like hot red blood, they constantly remind Pete of that. Pete knows he’s to blame, but he doesn’t say it out loud, because he knows it sounds silly and stupid, even though he knows it’s true. He can so easily see Patrick throwing his hands up and going ‘Are you nuts? It wasn’t your fault! You’re allowed to move on!’. And Patrick would be wrong for that.

“It was more than that,” Pete says, grumbling under his breath. “It’s different.”

“Whatever you say,” Patrick says, and his voice is strained. “But just know that it wasn’t your fault.”

Pete drops the subject since he’s pulling into the Starbucks drive-thru, even though he knows Patrick wasn’t done. “What do you want again?”

“An iced caramel macchiato,” Patrick says, and he reaches for his wallet.

“No, don’t,” Pete says. “I got this.”

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. But something about that, about the desperation in Patrick’s voice on ‘but just know that it wasn’t your fault’, it’s leading him into dangerous territory. Like, Pete could see himself, one day, believing him.

“You sure?” Patrick asks, and his eyes flicker to the **MICHAEL JAMES WAY** on Pete’s wrist.

“I’m not _broke_ , Patrick, it’s 5 fucking dollars,” Pete says back, and Patrick _laughs_ , throwing his hands up. “Sorry! I’m just, yeah, okay. Pay for it, then. Thanks.”

And Pete does _not_ watch Patrick’s mouth fit around the straw after Pete passes his drink over to him. Not at all.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, if this is just him trying to be a bigger man than he knows he is. If everyone wants to treat Pete like he’s fragile, like he can’t handle some bad news, he’ll show them that he can. That he can hear about dead soulmates and not want to drive his car off a cliff. But then, he thinks, strong men don’t cry in their room in the dark for hours about their own mistakes. They fucking own up to them.

Pete’s the weakest person in the world, but Patrick makes him weaker. With that infectious smile and the sunglasses.

When they reach Patrick’s place a few minutes later, and when Patrick reaches over to hug Pete and to thank him for the drink, Pete feels a pull in his chest. A very unplatonic pull. A very ‘I know we established that we’re just friends but now I’m feeling very unsure’ kind of pull. The kind of pull in his chest he’s only felt for Mikey.

Pete and Patrick are staring at each other through their sunglasses.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Pete prefaces, because he has to. It’s not a lie. He really doesn’t.

“Me neither,” Patrick says. He lifts his sunglasses off, and Pete can see the want in his eyes. So Pete pulls his own pair off too, hoping that Patrick sees what he’s seeing in him.

“We’re stupid,” Pete says, brushing his fingertips over the ribbon on Patrick’s wrist.

“So stupid,” Patrick agrees, leaning into his touch.

Pete kisses him goodbye. Pulls him closer across the center console by his denim jacket. Patrick smiles into it, presses another kiss to Pete’s lips when they pull apart. And then another. And then another.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Patrick murmurs and when Pete licks into his mouth, he tastes sweetness. They stay like that for a while, lazily making out in Pete’s car. It’s like, Patrick pulls away, and he reaches for the door, and then Pete whines, high-pitched and needy in his throat, and then Patrick’s leaning back over to silence him. Or, Pete reaches for his sunglasses, so he can start driving back to the restaurant, and then Patrick’s cupping Pete’s jaw and bringing him back in, wordlessly.

It feels good to not fucking talk about their feelings. It feels good to be stupid. Especially when he’s being stupid with Patrick’s mouth pressed against his.

“Are you busy tonight?” Pete asks, and Patrick shakes his head. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and laughs in agreement, as Pete says, “You should come over. Watch a movie or something.”

“I will,” Patrick says. He grabs his cup of coffee and he kisses Pete’s unshaven cheek right before he leaves the car. “I will.”

Although Pete has made a _very_ stupid decision, he leaves Patrick’s apartment with the sweetest taste in his mouth. Tastes like… caramel macchiato.

* * *

When Patrick presses the buzzer to Pete’s apartment complex, he’s not sure what to expect.

On one hand, he’s not dressed to impress. He’s just wearing a crewneck with a pair of jeans. Pete never said it was a date, and friends don’t dress up to hang out. Maybe friends also don’t _make out_ , but… he and Pete haven’t said that they weren’t more than friends, so Patrick’s not going there expecting… like, _sex_ or anything.

Tyler, on the other hand…

Patrick glances down at his text messages to Tyler as he waits for Pete to buzz him in.

 

 **Patrick** [7:01pm]: He said that we were gonna watch a movie and just hang out

 **Patrick** [7:01pm]: You don’t think he means like. You know…?

Tyler [7:02pm]: Take a THOROUGH shower before you go

Tyler [7:02pm]: Do you know what I mean by thorough.??

 **Patrick** [7:04pm]: So you think he wants to fuck me??

Tyler [7:05pm]: Ricky... lmao

Tyler [7:05pm]: Yes you idiot.! THOROUGH SHOWER

 **Patrick** [7:06pm]: You really are no help to me. I’m being serious! I don’t know what to do.

Tyler [7:07pm]: Just go w the flow, don’t force anything, don’t seem desperate and use condoms.!

Tyler [7:08pm]: No offense but sam and I placed bets a long time ago abt when you guys were finally gonna fuck and Im guaranteeing you that pete wants it too so just chill. You’re all good.!

 **Patrick** [7:10pm]: TY ty. Also stop placing bets on my life. It’s annoying.

Tyler [7:10pm]: Lol.. you wanna get in on the ‘ashley is gonna propose’ bet.? sam says next 4 months, I say shes gonna wait for hayley’s birthday

 **Patrick** [7:11pm]: Christmas. $10

Tyler [7:11pm]: Cheap

 **Patrick** [7:12pm]: I know you are but what am I :)

Tyler [7:12pm]: Dude u made out w pete after he bought you a single cup of coffee. Dont think you’re qualified to talk...

 **Patrick** [7:13pm]: Fuck you...

Tyler [7:14pm]: :)

 

And even though half of that conversation was worthless, Patrick _did_ take Tyler’s advice about the, er, thorough shower. Not that he thinks that Pete’s gonna fuck him, but just to be safe. A precaution! Just like the cologne that he put on and the brushing of his teeth so hard that he bled a little. Long story short, he doesn’t go into Pete’s apartment thinking about anything other than the pumpkin squares that Pete promised. _It’s not a date, we’re just hanging out, how is this any different than you watching movies with Hayley and Ashley?_

He knows the answer to that one, but he refuses to argue with himself. Tyler said to go with the flow. So, this is him going with the flow. Getting out the elevator and knocking on Pete’s door, and greeting him with a smile instead of burrowing himself in his head and his thoughts.

Pete looks good when he greets Patrick at the door, but when doesn’t Pete look good? He steps to the side to let Patrick in, and Patrick leans down to greet Steve, who runs to him from across the apartment.  He laughs when Steve licks over his face, and he looks up to Pete with one eye closed, since Steve is licking over his eyelid. “I could smell the pumpkin squares from the hallway, they smell good.”

“I was waiting for you to come before I iced them,” Pete says, and he helps Patrick up once Steve decides he’s done bothering Patrick for now. “Also partially because I don’t think I got the consistency right so it looks like concrete.”

“We can start from scratch,” Patrick shrugs, and he follows Pete into the kitchen. “How was your day?”

“After I dropped you off?” Pete asks, and he grins when he sees Patrick roll his eyes. “Yeah, _after_ you dropped me off. I already know that was good.”

They share a silent look. Patrick can’t really read it, but he knows it's playful. Patrick kinda wants to shove him up against the fridge and kiss him again, except he knows MJ is still home, and he’s not sure what the verdict is on that. Other people knowing. Even though he’s… sort of told everyone already. Even _Andy_.

“It was,” Pete says, still smiling a little to himself, and he hands Patrick a bowl of concrete. “This is the icing.”

“This is not icing,” Patrick says. “Move, please. I’ll do it. Where’re your ingredients again?”

Pete babbles as Patrick moves around in Pete’s kitchen to re-mix the icing for the squares. “The rest of my day was okay, though. Did, like, inventory and stuff… and a little kid threw up on Joe’s shoes, so that was great. And I shifted through some more poems… didn’t see anything by you, though.”

Patrick has been writing… but nothing is good. Nothing feels raw, yet. Like, he’s scratching the surface, but whenever it gets deep enough, it becomes too much. He’s better at music like that, he can pour all the pain into the music. But writing everything out makes it a lot more tangible. Especially when he knows that Pete’s seeing it. Pete’s writing is at least _good_ , even though it’s wordy and confusing and… kind of all over the place.

“That’s because I haven’t submitted anything,” he says, still working on the icing. “Maybe one day, though. Don’t think my poems deserve to be on the wall, they’re all… a little out there.”

“Did you not see Ashley’s poem last week?” Pete asks, teasing. “But yeah, no rush. Your stuff is good, you never give yourself enough credit.”

Patrick waves him off. He can’t take a compliment. It’s the most frustrating thing in the world to everyone else, but especially to Patrick. Because he wants to believe it, but then there’s Shane’s voice in his head, telling him that they’re all wrong, and then everything just turns to shit.

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Patrick says. He’s wearing his ribbon on his wrist, which normally doesn’t bother him, but his mark has been bothering the absolute shit out him lately. “And wait, you said someone puked on Joe’s shoes?!”

They carry on with light and very tip-toey conversation, because that’s what he and Pete at masters at, until MJ strolls into the kitchen, holding Steve under one arm, and an overnight bag slung over the other one. Steve is flailing around a little, even more when he sees MJ reaching for one of the pumpkin squares, but she just lets him.

“So, I’m gonna be gone for the night,” she tells the both of them. “Hanging out with Ash, Hayley, and Josh.”

“I thought you were going to–” Pete tries to say, before she sends him an exasperated look that stops him in his tracks. “I _was_ going to come back home, but then Ash said something about, like, hotboxing her car so that Josh can chill out about the whole soulmate thing.”

“She’s hotboxing Nora?” Patrick asks, raising his eyebrows. MJ just shrugs. “Yeah, let's go with that... Either way, I don’t think I’m gonna get out of that 100% there, so I’m just gonna spend the night. So… I guess you guys have the place to yourselves?”

There’s another moment of silence as that idea sinks in. So they’re gonna be alone. Watching a movie. Alone. While the sexual tension between the two of them is so strong.

“It’s not like we’re gonna burn the place down,” Pete says after a moment, and he looks over to Patrick. “Right?”

“Right!” Patrick says, hoping that his voice doesn’t give the fact that he’s hardcore sweating about this. “That would be, that would be bad.”

“Right…” She agrees hesitantly, looking between the two of them curiously. “Okay… bye guys. Don’t let Steve watch–”

“ _Watch what_?!” Pete asks, on the brink of hysteria, and MJ looks at him like he’s crazy. “Watch anything scary? Pete, let me finish my sentences, _please_.”

Patrick hides a laugh behind his hands as Pete fumbles through an apology. At least he’s not the only one nervous, he guesses. It’s strange, though… he knows that Pete’s slept with a bunch of people so why should _he_ be any different? Maybe it’s because Patrick’s ugly… yeah, that’s gotta be it…

MJ grabs another pumpkin square, dips it in Patrick’s icing-that-actually-looks-like-icing, and then she sets Steve back on the floor as she says her goodbyes. When the door closes, and it’s just Pete and Patrick (…and Steve), the atmosphere shifts, Patrick can feel it. He feels it when the two of them move to the couch and he feels it when Pete puts some shitty movie on. It feels supernatural, almost. But the weirdest thing is, it doesn’t feel predatory or overtly sexual, and it doesn’t feel uncomfortable, like it’s being forced. It feels warm and inviting. Pete and Patrick gravitate closer without even thinking about it. It feels like… _soulmate_ kinda shit.

“You smell, like, really good,” Pete says, through a giddy laugh, and his cheeks are tinted red. “Oh my God, I feel like- like, I don’t know.”

“You feel it too?” Patrick asks, and Pete nods.

“Are you scared of it?” Patrick asks, and Pete shakes his head.

“I feel like… um…” Pete says, fumbling for words for a moment. “Like, you make me kinda crazy and I kinda love it.”

It’s not the most romantic thing Patrick’s ever heard, but luckily for Pete, all of the romantic things Patrick’s ever heard were lies.

“Then why were you…” Patrick waves his hands around a little. “Like, scared of MJ leaving the two of us alone?”

Pete’s lips are parted, and despite what he says, he looks scared. Not of Patrick, but of himself. “Because I can’t help myself around you.”

Patrick notices that Pete’s hands are _shaking_. Like he’s trying his hardest to stay still, to not make any sudden movements and do something that he thinks Patrick’s not going to like. Patrick appreciates the effort times a million, but Pete’s an idiot if he thinks that Patrick doesn’t want it too.

“Lucky for you, I feel the same,” Patrick murmurs, and when he leans in to kiss him, Pete meets him halfway.

Usually, their kisses have a purpose. Like, there’s always this crazy passion to them. Even their goodbye make-out session in Pete’s car, it was always one of them doing something. Pete’s tongue in Patrick’s mouth, Patrick’s hands in Pete’s hair, pulling so that Pete would moan into his mouth. But this is so much different. Familiarity even though Patrick can count on one hand how many instances he and Pete have kissed. They’re kissing just because they can. They’re making out, slow and hot and with nowhere to be, just because they can. Shane isn’t in Patrick’s head at all, at least not yet. Not when Patrick opens his eyes and sees warm brown eyes, or runs his hand over Pete’s cheek and feels stubble scratching his palm.

“Patrick,” Pete moans, low in his throat, when Patrick shifts a little, and his half-hard dick presses against Pete’s thigh. In this position, Pete’s pinned between Patrick and the side of the couch. “ _God_ , you’re—”

“I’m?” Patrick questions, and when he kisses Pete again, Pete’s hands wander. One moves up and down Patrick’s arm, but the other moves down into his own pants. He squeezes the base of his dick through his boxers, just so that he can hold himself off, but Patrick has _ideas_. Ideas that have been brewing in his mind for a lot longer than he would care to admit.

“You…” Pete trails off again, and when he throws his head back, when Patrick moves down to kiss Pete’s neck, he says through a fucked-out voice, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“I _can_ feel it though,” Patrick jokes, smiling as he presses a bruising kiss right where he can feel Pete’s pulse. Pete, he moans again, and Patrick can feel it vibrate throughout his whole body. Can feel it in his veins, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

Pete’s like jelly underneath him, and Patrick’s never felt ‘in charge’ of anything before, not in his love life, or his previous sex life. He’s never been… like, the _dominating_ one, or whatever. But seeing Pete underneath him, reacting to just his _kisses_ like this, twists something good in the pit of his stomach. Pete’s eyes are closed, and he’s hard, and he’s so handsome, God, Pete’s so handsome, and he’s getting turned on by _him_. _Patrick_.

“Wanna suck you off,” Patrick says, because he’s so into this. Wants to see Pete writhe above him. Wants to hear more of Pete’s pretty moans that he’s keeping locked in. “Do you– are you okay with that?”

Pete’s hips buck off the couch, and the look he gives Patrick is enough of an answer, but–

“You gotta tell me,” Patrick says, “Like, consent, man.”

“Yes,” Pete breathes out, and he stretches his arms out to bring Patrick back in for another kiss.

He comes easily, tumbling back on top of Pete. “I want it, I want you… _everything_.”

As they continue to make out, Patrick’s hands move down to fumble with the button and zipper of Pete’s jeans. It’d be a lot easier to do if he could see, but he’s a little occupied at the moment, what with practically eating Pete’s face off, and the desperation, the way that Pete grinds up against Patrick’s hand… Patrick doesn’t mind waiting and taking their time with it. Especially when Pete tastes so good.

He’s not really sure what he expects to see when he pulls himself off Pete, and shifts down to the floor to get on his knees. Pete looks like he’s in heaven, with his half-lidded eyes, and looking down at Patrick like he’s an _angel_ , and Patrick knows he’s fully hard because he can see the outline of his cock through his underwear, but when he shoves Pete’s pants and boxers down far enough, and when Patrick looks, right as he’s about to suck Pete off, he sees a _tattoo_.

“ _OhMyGodIsThatATattoo_ ” Patrick rushes out, his eyes wide.

Pete’s pelvic tattoo is fucking ugly. It’s so ugly and it’s so unexpected, nowhere in Patrick’s fantasies is this _thing_ , yet it turns him on so much. Pete’s tattoos… Patrick never pegged himself as a guy who was into tattoos, but there’s the thorn necklace and now there’s this, and Patrick’s head _swims_ in fantasies.

“I know,” Pete says, through a wince, and when Patrick looks up at him, Pete looks a little embarrassed. “It’s– like, I don’t know. I was drunk. I know it’s stupid.”

“No, it’s… it’s _hot_ ,” Patrick says sincerely, and Pete raises his eyebrows. “Oh…? It is?”

Patrick doesn’t use his words– he just leans down and broadly licks over it as he wraps his dry hand around Pete’s cock. Pete shouts, his toes are curling in his socks, and his hands move down to Patrick’s hair. “Can I– Can I pull?”

“No,” Patrick says, as Pete’s hands stay. “It hurts.”

“I’ll give you a head massage or something,” Pete jokes, the sides of his eyes crinkling up, but his hands move, so that he’s gripping the edge of the sofa instead. His fingers tighten their grip when Patrick’s hot breath fans all over where he’s sensitive, and his head lolls as he lets out a contented sigh as Patrick presses a kiss to his hip bone and continues to slowly, slowly, _slowly_ jerk him off.

Patrick’s not nervous, he’s just… okay, nervous. Because _this_ is the perfect moment for self-doubt to hit him, with Pete’s dick right in front of his face, with Pete sighing happily above him. But it’s there, in the back of his mind. That Shane slept around so much, maybe Patrick won’t be good at it, and maybe Patrick’s shitty in bed. He always made Shane come, but half the time Shane came because the stuff that he and Patrick did weren’t entirely–

He just goes for it, looks up at Pete with his big eyes and runs his tongue along the head of Pete’s dick. Pre-cum hits his tongue and Pete makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and _oh, okay. This is good_. Patrick does it again, letting himself fall back into muscle memory, except nothing about this reminds him of his memories with Shane, with Shane’s hands pulling at Patrick’s hair, and Patrick’s hands behind his back, because Pete tastes like him, only sweeter, and Pete’s louder and more talkative, and–

“Patrickkkkkk,” Pete groans, his voice rough with want. “So gooooood.”

And Patrick hasn’t even done anything yet! Pete might be gassing Patrick up a little, but Patrick takes it with pleasure. He grins, looking up. “I’m not even doing anythinggggg,” he teases, going back to those broad licks along the underside of Pete’s cock.

“I–” Pete tries to say, but he’s at a loss for words. “I know, but everything you do is, is just—”

This time, Patrick’s body works with what he wants, because without thinking about it really, he sinks his mouth over Pete properly, and _actually_ gets into it. He knows his mouth is spit-slick and he knows that he’s downright moaning over Pete, because he’s got a hand shoved down his unbuttoned pants too, palming at his dick, and Pete’s babbling isn’t making this any harder for Patrick to bring him closer and closer to the edge.

They play off each other so well, because Pete’s words, slurred and desperate, “Been dreaming of this since that– oh _God_ , since the party, you’re so hot, baby, you’re so beautiful”, they only egg Patrick on, and makes him do everything a little harder and with a little more passion, which only drives Pete even crazier.

And Pete’s been close for a while, already hard from the both of them making out, so it’s not surprising when he says, through hitched breaths, that he’s close. Patrick’s got both hands on Pete’s hip bones, keeping him pressed to the couch so that he's in control, but he takes one off to wrap around what he’s not fitting into his mouth, and he looks up at Pete, sweat in his eyebrows and a sore jaw, with wide eyes as Pete _comes_.

Patrick swallows most of it just on default, but he still sputters over it a little, and he’s still dazed when Pete brings him for a kiss, but it’s _Pete_ who’s licking into his mouth, tasting himself, cleaning his mess for Patrick. Flashes of white when their tongues mingle, the only thing Patrick can think besides _Pete just came in my mouth, I just sucked Pete’s dick and he came in my mouth, Pete’s cum is in my mouth,_ is… well, that Pete’s a little kinky.

And Patrick’s not sure how he feels about it in general, but judging from the hot feeling in his gut and the fact that he’s still so hard that he’s leaking… he’s liking it right now, in that moment. When he and Pete pull away for a second, Patrick blurts out “That was so hot,” and Pete’s laugh is low as he tucks his wet dick back into his boxers, so he can focus on Patrick. “Yeah?”

They’re half on the couch and half on the floor, and Patrick’s back is bent uncomfortably, but Pete remedies that by shifting so that they’re both back on the sofa. His eyes are dark and his hands are everywhere, like he doesn’t know what he wants to focus his attention on first. But for now, he unzips Patrick’s jeans. The angle is weird, since it’s _Pete_ who’s pressed against the cushions, and _Patrick_ who’s in his lap, but it doesn’t make it bad. Pete’s knuckles brush on Patrick’s cock, and he cries out and lurches forward to kiss Pete again. His wrists are on either side of Pete’s head, and the ribbon itches like crazy, especially since it’s essentially getting rubbed raw as Patrick holds onto the couch for purchase as Pete jerks him off, his palms slick with spit.

They’re oddly quiet, save for Pete groaning out Patrick’s name and Patrick’s pleased sighing, because they’re both stuck in their own heads. But it’s– _it’s fine_ , because Patrick’s not entirely there either. Half of his mind is on Shane and the fucking ribbon, and the other is mostly focused on not coming yet. Pete’s hands are rough and calloused and feel _perfect_.

Patrick brings his wrist up, and presses one hand on Pete’s chest to get him to slow down. “Wait, fuck, let me take this off… I can’t– like, it’s bothering me.”

“Wait, let me…” Pete says quietly, with primal want in his eyes, and Patrick leaves his wrist out, expecting Pete to take it off with his hands, but then Pete is leaning forward, tugging at the ends with his teeth, while holding Patrick’s hand to balance himself. When the ribbon finally tumbles down onto Pete’s chest, he says, “Can I–?” “Yesssssssss.”

Patrick’s not sure what Pete means, but he _agrees_ , especially when Pete fingers brush over his mark and Patrick immediately throws his head back and _growls_ , rolling his hips into Pete’s fist. He was turned on before but now he’s _turned_ _on_. All thoughts of Shane are out the fucking door now, everything in his brain feels like goo and when he tries to speak, all that comes out are these desperate, whiny noises.

Pete’s eyes pierce into his once he licks over the mark in the same way that Patrick licked over Pete’s tattoo, and Patrick sobs without any tears. His nails, they dig into Pete’s shoulders so hard that they leave impressions even through Pete’s shirt, and everything in his head is white once Pete begins to suck a bruise over it, his teeth scrape so good and rough against the mark, but his tongue soothes everything and Patrick’s groans are downright guttural.

They’re an odd sight, Patrick draped over Pete’s chest and his body shaking from overstimulation, while Pete’s got one hand loosely wrapped around Patrick’s cock and the other one supporting Patrick’s wrist as he sucks a bruise onto it, but when the feeling is so good, it doesn’t really matter to Patrick that the position is making his back ache.

He’s about to come, caught between the slightest touches and the most intense one of them all, and he barely hear himself babbling praises over the ringing in his ears, but Pete stops suddenly.

“You want me to _what_?” Pete asks, eyes wide with want.

“I don’t know,” Patrick blinks for a moment, and he shifts a little, so that Pete can resume what he was doing before. Pete rolls his eyes playfully, but goes back to lazily jerking him off as he says, “You said you wanted me to– nevermind, I don’t want to, like, pressure you or–”

“Fuck me?” Patrick asks, and Pete’s hand, that moved from his wrist and to his hips, tightens… like he’s trying to hold himself off. And he’s the one that already came. “Did I say I wanted you to fuck me?”

“Yes,” Pete swallows hard, still staring up at Patrick like he’s so much more than he knows he is. “But I–”

“I do,” Patrick says, and he can feel Pete’s breath quicken, can feel his heart beating faster under the weight that he’s resting on his chest. “That wasn’t just me babbling because you were– fuck, doing _that_. Shit, I wanna, wanna feel you inside me.”

Pete drops his head back, humming his appreciation for that idea, and Patrick leans down to kiss his neck. “We don’t have to though. I liked that thing you were doing, like… a lot.”

“Yeah, _I know_ , you were fucking screaming,” Pete laughs, moving both of his hands so he can cup Patrick’s face and bring him in for a real kiss, another one that leaves Patrick breathless and still so turned on. He’s still hard and his dick is still kind of… there, while he and Pete breathe each other in and kiss until they’re practically blue in the face, but he squeezes the base of his cock just because he knows there’s so much more coming.

“Let’s go to my room,” Pete murmurs, with that same dark and subdued look in his eyes, and Patrick can’t agree faster.

Patrick shoves himself back in his still unbuttoned jeans, and he almost trips over himself as he follows Pete down the hall. Steve, who’s been asleep under the table the entire time, stirs a little, and Pete’s eyes widen as he just remembers his existence. He ducks his head around the wall and whispers to Patrick. “Wait… was Steve awake the whole time?”

“No, he was sleeping,” Patrick says, laughing once he sees Pete’s relieved expression. “I glanced over mid… uh, moan.”

“I know, you’re so loud,” Pete teases in that low voice again, and it’s not fair how fast Pete can switch like that, how one moment he’s making Patrick laugh and the other, Patrick’s ready to drop back down on his knees even though he’s made Pete come once already.

“I can’t help it, not when you do that,” Patrick whines, pulling Pete into another kiss. “I haven’t– you make me feel so good.”

He’s got Pete up against the wall, one hand curling into his hair, and the other resting gently on his hip, but Pete’s fingers keep barely pressing over Patrick’s mark, and judging from the way that Pete smiles into their kisses as Patrick rolls his hips helplessly in the space between Pete’s thighs, he’s doing it on purpose.

“You should fuck me next time,” Pete whispers in Patrick’s ear before he bites into the lobe of it gently, letting his teeth pull until Patrick whimpers. “You’d let me do that?”

“Duh,” Pete says. “Want you anyway you’ll let me.”

God. That sends delicious chills down Patrick’s spine. Anything that Patrick wants and nothing he doesn’t. This fantasy is gonna come crashing down soon enough, the one where he’s kissing Pete and they’re smiling, the one where Patrick’s actually enjoying sex. But it’s going well right now, with Pete soft sighs, with the way that Pete’s looking at him with so much want that Patrick can’t believe it’s directed at him. So, Patrick doesn’t complain or stop it.

“Right now, I wanna be on your bed and I want your fingers in me,” Patrick says, going easily when Pete tugs them in the direction of his bedroom.

His bed is clean enough, save for the scrunched up sheets at the foot of the bed from where they’ve been pulled up and the pillows scattered everywhere, but Patrick tumbles on top of them all the same. Pete’s bed is soft and smells like him, and if Patrick wasn’t 100% sure he’d look like a freak, he wishes he could turn onto his stomach to bury his nose in Pete’s pillows, just to smell his shampoo and his sweat. Thankfully, Pete’s not too far from him– he’s climbing on the bed right behind Patrick, and he’s tossing his shirt off.

It goes in one fluid motion, and Pete looks at Patrick with a smirk when he sees that Patrick’s breathing rough, running his eyes over the surface of his chest times a million. Patrick can’t help it, honestly. Pete’s shirtless and his tattoos are mesmerizing in the golden hue of the light on the fan and he knows that he won’t look the same. That once his shirt comes off, he’s gonna have nothing on Mikey. He can barely remember what Mikey even looked like, but he remembers _skinny_. And then he remembers Tyler biting his lip before admitting, “Well Shane described you as fat, but–”

“Can we turn the lights off?” Patrick asks softly, just as Pete leans in to tug Patrick’s shirt off too. Pete blinks up at him, confusion set in his face. “Uh, yeah, sure, I–”

“It’s just stupid self-conscious stuff,” Patrick tells him. “We don’t have to dwell on it.”

“We don’t,” Pete nods, and when he gets up to turn the lights off, Patrick hears him sigh. “But you should know that you’re–”

“Pete,” Patrick says, tiredness in his voice. “Just stop. It’s fine.”

In an instant, they’re shrouded in darkness. And, for a moment, it doesn’t feel like sex anymore. It feels like the night that Patrick called Pete over.

They look at each other from opposite sides of the room, and Patrick can barely make Pete’s face out, but it looks like defeat.

“I– One day, okay,” Patrick says, shifting his focus so that he’s staring at the ceiling. “One day it’s going to be fine, but I– y’know, that self-hatred doesn’t just go away.”

“I know,” Pete says, and his voice is closer now, softer. “I just wish it did. You’re so beautiful, Patrick. Really…”

Patrick blinks away his tears fast enough that he doesn’t let himself be convinced they were even there to begin with. “Thank you… here, come closer. Wanna kiss you.”

Pete’s tense when Patrick runs his hands over his arms, but he slowly melts into it the deeper and hotter their kiss gets. They’re both in Pete’s bed, and Patrick’s beginning to get hard again, and it doesn’t hurt that the silk of Pete’s sheets feel like heaven against Patrick’s mark. He runs his fingers over Pete’s mark too, but Pete pulls that hand away in an instant. Off limits… which Patrick can respect.

“Can I take your shirt off?” Pete asks, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s jaw. “Or do you want to keep it on?”

He can feel the heat of Pete’s body through his shirt just fine, and there’s still a part of himself that yells at him to say no, but he nods despite it. “Yeah, you can take it off.”

The whole ‘getting naked in front of Pete’ thing is something that scares him half to death. If he wasn’t enough for Shane, if he, Shane’s _soulmate_ , was so fucking disgusting and despicable that Shane had to pick up a bunch of skinny twinks to fuck senseless, then what about Pete? Not to mention that he’s already self-conscious and getting naked is... He’s never done it for someone that wasn’t Shane. But this is Pete, and Pete’s his friend, and he _trusts_ Pete.

He helps Pete with removing his shirt, and suddenly, there’s the coolness of the silk on his back as Pete kisses down his chest. His kisses are slow and hot, open-mouthed and sloppy and noisy, and they feel like heaven. Patrick, he curls his hand in Pete’s hair, and he lets himself sink into the feeling. Pete, hot in all aspects, on top of him, and the silk, and the coolness of the room. He tugs on Pete’s hair because he knows Pete likes that, and Pete groans against Patrick’s skin.

“Wanna lift your hips?” Pete asks, once he’s made it down to Patrick’s hip bones. Patrick doesn’t want to know what his torso looks like– considering the amount of times Patrick’s jaw dropped in pleasure because of the kisses and bruises Pete put over his stomach, over his chest. At this point, he’s sure he’s covered in love bites, but that’s a breakdown for tomorrow. “I wanna take the rest of your clothes off...”

Patrick obliges. He lifts his hips, feels Pete slide his jeans down to his knees, and when Pete’s fingers hook in the waistband of his boxers, he sits up abruptly. “Wait.”

Pete waits. Patrick, he tries to calm himself down, suffocate the butterflies flying free in his stomach, but he can’t. _It’s just sex, it’s just sex, it’s not Shane, this isn’t Shane._ “I… I–”

“I can wait,” Pete says to him softly. “It’s okay, we can take a break.”

Tears once again prick at Patrick’s eyes, and he angrily wipes them away once they start to fall. “I just, this is– you know, you’re my first since Shane. I just feel bad everywhere. Even though I want it, I want it so bad you have no idea, I just–”

He swallows hard. “ _Fuck_ , man. I thought I was going to be okay.”

Pete’s still, one hand resting on Patrick’s hipbone to keep him grounded, but he lets Patrick breathe a little, get his thoughts unscrambled.

“Do you want me to get your shirt for you?” Pete asks sincerely, and Patrick shakes his head. “No… no, I’m okay. I know it’s you. Just– kiss me again?”

And Pete does. Softly, like he’s not trying to push anything. And his hands don’t wander anywhere, he just lets Patrick control it at the pace he wants to go. Patrick’s hands are the ones that wander, but not because of anything sexual. He’s running his hands over Pete’s muscles because they’re _Pete’s_ , and Shane never had muscles as defined as his, and running his hands through Pete’s hair, because it’s textured and sticky and nothing like Shane’s, and running his hands over the surface of Pete’s face, even if he does accidentally almost poke his eye out. That incident leaves them laughing and smiling, and Patrick takes Pete’s hand and moves it over the waistband of his boxers.

“Okay… I’m good, I promise.” Patrick says, smiling confidently when Pete leans back to gauge his expression. “I swear.”

His hips lift and Patrick’s underwear slides down his thighs with Pete’s aid. And then Pete is leaning down and kissing Patrick’s hipbone and over the surface of Patrick’s thick thighs and then over Patrick’s knee, until all of Patrick’s clothes, even his socks, are sitting in a pile on the floor. He hears some rustling, like Pete’s taking off his jeans too, and then he feels the mattress dip under him when Pete’s added weight is back on the bed.

Patrick takes a deep breath when he feels Pete’s gaze over his body.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Pete groans under his breath, leaning over Patrick once again, and he wraps a hand around Patrick’s dick as the other one reaches over to the bedside table a couple of inches away from Patrick’s head. Patrick lets his head loll over the surface of Pete’s pillow, and he sighs in pleasure when he says, “Sounds fake but I’ll take it.”

“Good,” Pete replies back, and then Patrick hears the dull thud of a bottle of lube being thrown carefully to the other side of Patrick’s body on the bed. “Can I put a pillow under your hips?”

Patrick nods, and when Pete sits on his heels and reaches over, Patrick notices that Pete’s hard, and his eyes widen. “You’re hard again already?” he asks breathlessly, and Pete raises his eyebrows. “Patrick, it’s you… _yeah_.”

Patrick throws his hands up like he’s surrendering, and he laughs even as he lifts his hips up so Pete can fit a pillow underneath. “Sorry, I just– you have way more stamina than some people I know…”

“Can’t help the way you make me,” Pete says, pressing a chaste and sweet kiss to Patrick’s forehead, before he moves back down. “You’re ridiculously hot. I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

“Well… I don’t mind you _saying_ it,” Patrick stresses. “Like, it certainly doesn’t hurt...”

“Good,” Pete says, and Patrick hears the cap of the lube open. “So, you wouldn’t mind me saying that I wanted to bury my head in between your thighs the day you walked into the restaurant all those months ago?”

Patrick whines at that, bucking his hips into nothing but the air. “I–”

“ _Or_ me saying that the night after Andy separated us, I came home and I didn’t even have to really touch myself… came undone just thinking of your smile…” Pete groans close to Patrick’s ear, and Patrick feels his voice vibrate throughout his entire body.

“ _Pete_ ,” Patrick cries out, his eyes squeezed tight in concentration so that he doesn’t come, “Fuck me now, please, please, I–”

“ _Or_ –” “Pete, _shut the fuck up_ , I’m gonna come,” Patrick silences him with a kiss, and he can barely see the rest of the room, but he _can_ see Pete’s grin when they pull away, especially when Pete kisses him once more before he moves down and settles between Patrick’s slightly spread legs.

He nudges them further apart though, before he squeezes some lube onto his fingers. Patrick’s watching him intensely and he fights the urge to touch himself– he knows his cock is leaking with pre-come, but this is already too much, Pete warming lube between his fingers, Pete’s warm breath on the inside of his thighs…

He starts with one finger and looks up, waiting for Patrick’s nod, and when he gets it, he slides his index finger in easily. Patrick, he bites down on his tongue, and his fists in the sheets tighten their grip. “Jesus Christ,” Patrick groans. “It’s been too fucking long.”

“How long?” Pete asks, and Patrick’s about to knee him in the mouth because he doesn’t want to think about the last time, before he realizes that– “Do you finger yourself and think about me?”

“I haven’t–” Patrick pants breathlessly, trying to get his words out. “I haven’t– I have, I’ve only been jerking myself off.”

“I finger myself and think about you,” Pete says to him conversationally, and Patrick’s thighs shake when Pete fits another finger in, just like that. “In the shower sometimes right before work, I think about your fingers or your cock in me and then I come to work and I fucking ache all over.”

His angle hasn’t been right until _now_ – Patrick’s teeth gnash together and he says once he’s able to compose himself, “ _Nnghhh_ , there,” to which Pete gets the message through and through. His fingers angle for Patrick’s prostate and Patrick grinds down on them shamelessly as Pete continues to babble. “I think about your dick in my mouth and about you holding me there by my hair, and… Patrick, _fuck_ , I think about your hands all over my body and pinning me down and–”

Pete’s fingers thrust harder and faster just because he’s egging himself on harder, and Patrick rolls with it, moaning and nodding along, “And, and I think about you fucking me senseless and making me drool for it, and, and you drive me _fucking crazy_ , I haven’t thought about anyone like this since Mikey, but you- god, you have me wrapped around your fucking finger.”

At the mention of ‘ _f_ _inger’_ , Pete slowly eases in a third, and he bites down over Patrick’s hip bone when Patrick once again reaches down to pull on Pete’s hair. “Hurry,” Patrick pants, his whole body sensitive, since he’s about to come and he’s covered in hickies, and there are three fingers _inside of him_ , “Hurry, Pete. Come on, fuck me.”

“Are you sure?” Pete asks, slowing down his fingers a little, and Patrick tries to move with the motion of it, wanting more. “Right now? I can stretch you out a little–”

“Now,” Patrick tugs on Pete’s hair again, and _that_ brings Pete back up, pulling his fingers out as he does. His dirty and slippery fingers reach over for a condom while Patrick brings him for another breathless kiss that isn’t so much a kiss as it is ‘breathe into each other’s mouths’, but it works for Pete, and it works for Patrick, so there’s no problem there.

And yes, there’s a lot of fumbling. Pete’s fingers are too slippery, so Patrick opens the condom for him, as Pete finally, _finallllyyyyyy_ pulls his boxer briefs off, and Patrick’s the one who rolls the condom for Pete, even though he gets a little caught up in the action and ends up jerking Pete off as they make out again. There’s even fumbling and curses under breaths when Patrick tries to shift into a comfortable position since there’s an ache in his shoulder, but they finally get it. The moment when Pete buries his head in Patrick’s sweat-slick neck, he’s an inch away from burying himself in Patrick’s ass and they’re both breathing rough.

“You can still say no,” Pete says softly, and Patrick makes a sad sound at that. “No, I– Pete, goddammit, look at me.”

Pete does, and Patrick’s eyes have long adjusted to the darkness, so he can make out Pete’s face easily, and knows Pete can make his out too. “I want this. And I want you. One hundred and ten percent.”

“Good… I want you one hundred and twenty,” Pete jokes as he kisses Patrick’s forehead. And then he laughs when Patrick grumbles. “Fine, then I’m at one hundred and thirty. Get the hell in me.”

And it does hurt, but Patrick’s used to worse, honestly, so he’s mostly quiet as Pete slowly pushes in until there’s nothing more and they’re pressed close together. His breath is shaky when he exhales, and Pete brushes some hair out of Patrick’s eyes before he dips his head so they can kiss again.

It’s slow and steamy. Pete’s not so much thrusting as much as he’s rolling his hips, but he’s got the right enough angle to hit _that_ spot, and in no time, Patrick’s a mewling mess underneath him, even at the sweet and steady pace Pete’s going. His hands, they scratch roughly at Pete’s back once he realizes that Pete likes that (Pete… is into a lot of things), and whenever he throws his head back with a moan, Pete kisses over an existing hickie.

“Pete,” he sighs his name so breathily, “Please, please, can I come?”

Pete gives him an odd look, slowing his pace down to something even slower than it was before, and Patrick cries out in frustration. “Did you just… ask?”

Patrick mistakes this as Pete wanting him to beg harder. He screws his eyes shut and he says louder like he doesn’t want to, but– “ _P_ _lease_ Pete, please let me come, please, I’ve been so good, please, I–”

Pete just looks more confused.

“Patrick. You don’t have to ask…? You can just– it’s fine, yeah, you can come, whenever you want.”

Patrick comes right after that with a silent cry. His nails dig into Pete’s skin, and his entire body tenses up, and he doesn’t even have to touch himself– he just comes undone, just like that. And Pete tries to ignore the bad feeling in his stomach about Patrick begging like that.

He’s about to pull out, to finish himself off, but Patrick pulls him in closer and says through slurred words, “Where are you– keep fucking me.”

He keens when Pete hits his prostate, because he’s all orgasm sensitive, and he nods eagerly when Pete asks if he’s sure. “I’m not going to break, I’ve had much worse, come on, use me.”

“I’m not gonna _use_ you,” Pete mutters, but he puts a little more force into it since Patrick’s pushing back onto him with every thrust. Patrick’s stomach is still wet because of the splattered come, and when Pete scoops some of it up with his fingers, Patrick opens his mouth wordlessly, sucking on Pete’s fingers and looking up at Pete with a fire in his eyes, wanting him to go harder, fuck him rougher.

But there’s– there’s that comment, the _‘I’ve had much worse’_ , and Pete _can’t_ fuck him harder. He’s going to let this be slow and sweet and nothing rough that Patrick can compare future experiences to with a grimace. Even if it’s still kinky on its own merits, with Pete’s fingers in Patrick’s mouth, the rough groans that spill from Pete’s mouth as he continues to fuck Patrick, and the cries that come out of Patrick since Pete still is, long minutes after Patrick has already come.

“Patrick,” Pete closes his eyes shut as his thrusts become sloppy and he knows he’s close. “Patrick, I’m gonna–”

“Do it on my face,” Patrick blurts out, and _God_ , just that comment almost does it for Pete. “Please, Pete, _please_ , I–”

“Yeah,” Pete shushes him because he hates, he _hates_ the begging, “Yeah, fuck, I’m–”

He pulls out of Patrick completely, and he feels Patrick shift underneath him, like he’s trying to sit up, and he’s staring at Pete with such a dazed and amazing expression that Pete can feel himself about to come and–

He peels the condom off and in an instant, as soon as his slick hand touches his dick, and as soon as he’s– he’s _aimed_ at Patrick’s face, he comes hard with a growl.

Patrick’s eyes are closed, which is a good thing, since some ends up caught in his eyelashes. Most of the mess, it’s a fucking _mess_ , lands over his cheek and his lips. It’s stickiness, but it runs down his face a little, and even though Pete just came for the second time in a short period, and he’s a little dizzy and tired, he feels this pull in his chest to lick it off Patrick’s face… so he does.

He lurches forward, and he licks over Patrick’s cheek and his lips, and Patrick opens his mouth as Pete does, so that they’re making out once again. The whole room is a million degrees and there’s saltiness wherever Pete tastes, whether it’s come or sweat or Patrick’s tears, and it’s one of the most intense orgasms either of them have had in _a long time._

“Pete,” Patrick laughs giddily, like he’s a little out of his mind. “Fuck, that was so good. I’m aching, I’m– oh my God!”

His eyes are burning a little, thanks to the added… touches to his eyelashes, but he wipes at them until he can open his eyes properly. Pete’s got his face cupped in his hands, and Pete kisses him properly before he says, “Rick, we gotta clean up…”

“Just… get a wash cloth or something,” Patrick says, licking at his dry lips. “I don’t wanna shower now. I’m tired… wanna sleep.”

“I’m gonna be right back, okay?” Pete says, running his hands over Patrick’s side. He’s looking down at Patrick like he’s worried or something, which is just beginning to piss Patrick off, but then he thinks back to, like, literally two minutes ago, and yeah… maybe Pete’s just protective. Which Shane was never like. He nods, and when Pete kisses his shoulder before he goes, Patrick sighs happily.

He’s too tired to feel bad about having sex with Pete. Honestly. His exhaustion hits him hard, but he forces himself to stay awake. To think about what he’s going to tell Tyler when he asks tomorrow, because he knows that Tyler’s going to draw conclusions when he doesn’t get a text from Patrick until the morning. He thinks about Pete’s dark eyes and how they melted into soft brown whenever Patrick showed the slightest bit of discomfort, and thinks about how different his life would have been if Shane had done even that. Gave a fuck about limits. But he forces that out of his head. None of that, not now. Not in this afterglow.

“Can I turn the lamp on?” Pete asks once he’s back in the room, and Patrick swallows hard, thinking it over for a second, before he says, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

He hears a glass get put down on the bedside table, and when Pete turns the lamp on, and Patrick sees that it’s a glass of water, he takes it gratefully. “Oh, sick. Thanks. Do you have any extra pajamas I can borrow?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Pete says softly, and he looks at Patrick’s face, just studying it for a moment. “Can I, uh, ask you a question?”

He reaches up to wipe Patrick’s face clean, but Patrick takes the cloth from his hands, giving Pete a look that says _‘I can fucking wipe my own face, thanks.’_ “Uh… shoot?”

“Why did…” Pete tries to say, watching as Patrick wipes extra vigorously at his eyelashes with the cloth, but the words are stuck in his throat. “Why did you, uh, _ask_ me if you could come?”

Patrick looks a little taken aback at the question, and as soon as he gives Pete this unsure and uneasy fake smile, Pete knows he fucked up. “I, uh… I don’t know. I guess it was just a subconscious thing. Shane used to–”

“No,” Pete shakes his head. “I’m sorry, that was wrong to ask. I should have known.”

“He doesn’t have an effect on me anymore,” Patrick says, which is a total lie, and he knows that Pete knows this, but he needs to lie to himself so that he doesn’t beat himself up for what he did tonight. For fucking Pete. “He doesn’t– I was just in my head a little too much. It won’t happen again…”

“It’s fine if it does, though,” Pete says, and Patrick shakes his head. “What? No, it’s not.”

“I– Okay, but I’ll be understanding if it does,” Pete says, and Patrick opens his mouth to argue some more, but he drops it. Mostly because he just wants to sleep. “Okay,” he says, and Pete can tell that his response was not a definitive ‘ _okay’_ , but he drops it too. He holds up the other washcloth, a ‘ _Do you want me to do the honors’_ , and Patrick gives him a genuine smile. “Yeah, you can do it. I’m tired.”

Pete runs the warm cloth over the surface of his stomach and between his legs, Patrick lets him because he's practically hiding his body under the covers, and then he tosses that on the floor before he leans down to pass Patrick a pair of boxers and a shirt. Patrick puts them on as Pete gets half dressed too, and they’re quiet when Pete turns the lamp off and crawls underneath the comforter right alongside Patrick.

Patrick’s not sure what he expected from Pete, if he thought that he was going to be stiff next to him, because the guilt about Mikey was going to settle in and he wouldn’t want anything to do with Patrick at all, or if he thought Pete was going to even sleep somewhere else on the bed or in the apartment, just because the thought of cuddling next to Patrick would be too intimate. Sex is one thing, but cuddling is another.

But Pete, he _clings_ to Patrick. He’s lying half on top of him, and he’s got his head buried in Patrick’s neck, his legs and arms tangled in Patrick in one way or another, and he’s close to suffocating him… but Patrick doesn’t mind.

“Is this too much?” Pete asks, worry on his face, but that quickly dissipates when Patrick throws his arm over Pete’s back. “No, you’re perfect, you’re good… good night, Pete.”

“Night, Rick…” He smiles against the surface of Patrick’s neck, and he presses a kiss to a bruise.

Patrick sleeps with a content smile on his face. And Pete, who hasn’t fallen asleep without trouble in _weeks_ , falls asleep in an instant too, while the bold names of their soulmates shine in the moonlight, filtering in weakly through the blinds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah... listen i need a pass on the smut ok im a *cody ko and noel miller voice* fucking virggggggggggggggg 
> 
> BUT I HOPE IT WAS??? ALRIGHT????? HASAJSAJSHJSJD i hope that you were able to get thru the chapter in one-go and if you skimmed the shit outta this chapter, i honestly dont blame you and thanks for even getting to the end shdajshjd


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not that patrick would read this but PATRICK HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I LOVE U BITCH <33 you're the only white boy that matters to me :')
> 
> also sorry its been so long :( i know im literally driving everyone away w these inconsistent AF updates but like.... college is a thing that i do. unfortunately. ANYWAYS! im gonna do a glee style update in case you need a refresher! the time between updates feels long to me but i know its even longer for people who like. DONT have this story playing on repeat in the back of their minds lol
> 
> so here's what you missed on edgar allan potato! so basically josh's soulmate died. WHAT!!! we been seen this shit coming, but it's still super sad for everyone involved, especially josh and tyler, since their relationship is. weird. meanwhile, pete and patrick's relationship increased by a thousand because they fully fucked last night! not only a hand job, not only a blow job. full out SEX! are things finally starting to progress between those two? will tyler and josh work their shit out? will we ever see the friendship group have another band practice again? is uma ever gonna stop dragging this fic out? let's find out!
> 
> ***ALSO- there's some really slight (but still) rape mention in the first section. as always, lemme know if you want me to summarize for you***

Although it’s an unfamiliar bed that Patrick wakes up in the next morning, any panic that settles in him as he opens his eyes to the sound of an unfamiliar alarm quickly dissipates when he remembers what the weight on his chest is ( _it’s Pete)_ and why he’s in Pete’s bed ( _because they fucked. The sore feeling in his hips makes itself known)._

“Pete,” Patrick says sleepily, tossing an arm out blindly to try to silence Pete’s alarm clock. “Pete, get up, it’s your alarm, and- _agh_ , I’m gonna choke, get your arm off my- _Pete_!”

“Shut up,” Pete says, his voice rough with sleepiness as well, but it sounds fond enough. His hand, connected to the arm pressing into Patrick’s throat, hits the snooze button, and then he rolls a little to the side, moves that arm back over Patrick’s chest, and says with his eyes closed, already half asleep again, “Five more minutes.”

“Are you–”

“Shhhhh.”

“But–”

“ _Shhhhhhhhhhhhh_.”

He doesn’t sleep since he’s wide awake. But, he basks in _this_. The warm sunlight from the blinds, Pete’s slow and even breathing, the details of the room. A packed bookshelf, the dirty clothes on the floor even though Pete’s an adult and the laundry basket is right there. The emptiness that rings off the bare walls. Like something is missing. It’s messy, but not in the way that being in a couple makes your room messy. No spare shoe in the middle of the room for no goddamn reason, or a shopping bag from… _shops_ sitting at the foot of the bed. No pictures on bedside tables.

He thinks about his room back in his old home and how he left it. Wedding pictures on the nightstand and the deep red walls that reminded Patrick a lot less of love and a lot more of violence. Thinking about their bed used to make Patrick feel the way that violins do at the end of a powerful song, like they’re bringing you to another universe where everything sounds like heaven. But now, that feeling mimics one of a horror movie orchestra. He closes his eyes, and Shane is rubbing his hand over Patrick’s arm as he stares wide-eyed at the wall, and Shane’s voice is in his ears, echoing something about Patrick giving in and Patrick liking it after all, about how Patrick always forgets that Shane knows him better than he knows his own self, that he’s too stubborn for his own good. Doesn’t test his limits, doesn’t try new things.

This isn’t the place for Patrick to have half a panic attack, with Pete still asleep half-on top of him, so he pushes it down. Forces himself to breathe deep breaths and to look around where he’s safe. He swallows hard and keeps his eyes open because every bad memory is sitting behind closed lids, and he tries to focus on Pete instead. His hair and his colorful tattoos and the slight smile on his face as he sleeps soundly even though he was awake minutes ago. _I wish I were as peaceful as that_ , is almost at the tip of Patrick’s (metaphorical, in this instance) tongue, until he remembers that he and Pete pretty much have enough trauma between the two of them to last them, like, a billion lifetimes.

The second time Pete’s alarm goes off, Patrick flinches at the same time that Pete goes, “ _Fuck_ , five more minutes…”

“Hell no,” Patrick says, and he reaches for Pete’s alarm first– it’s a clock that he surprisingly knows how to maneuver. “I’m not going to be blamed when Ashley and the crew are forced to open and they burn the place down.”

 _This_ thought is the one that makes Pete sit up and pull his arm off of Patrick’s chest. Already, there’s an ache there that craves his warmth. “Okay, yeah. I need to get up.” Pete says. And when he looks at Patrick, all sleepily, with doe eyes, Patrick feels a violent pang of _want_ in his chest. But Pete in the morning, with the light hitting his bare chest, and with the little bit of dried drool on the side of his mouth, that’s not his Pete. His Pete is Pete in the dark and at midnight, tied with alcohol and the lights turned off and the wind chill that comes in the dead of night.

“What? I have drool on me, right?” Pete asks, noticing the way Patrick’s looking at him, and he reaches a hand up to his mouth to rub at the spot. “Gross.”

“No, you’re just...” Patrick tries to say something that’ll make sense, but he comes up empty. “I don’t know.”

“Okay, well… when you remember,” Pete says back, before he studies Patrick’s face. He hopes he doesn’t have any gross stuff in his eyes or anything– this makes him panic and think that he has gross stuff in his eyes. “What, do you regret last night, or anything? I’m sorry if I–”

“No!” Patrick scrambles to say a little too quickly. “I just... It’s different seeing you in the morning, I guess. I like it. And you. Like, a lot.”

“Oh,” Pete happily says, before he breaks out into a grin. “Cool. Okay. Do you want breakfast?”

“I kind of expect breakfast considering I slept with the owner of a breakfast restaurant,” Patrick says with an easy smile on his face, and Pete goes along with the joke as he rolls his eyes. “We’re not _just_ a breakfast restaurant. We have _desserts_ now.”

“Would it be gross if I wanted to kiss you right now?” Pete asks suddenly, like an afterthought if an afterthought could be a thought that one has had for about 5 minutes, and Patrick grumbles, “I asked you to come on my face last night. I think all logic has flown out the door,” as he pulls Pete closer by his shoulder and kisses him, silencing Pete’s laugh.

Morning breath be damned, they kiss slow and hot. In no time, Patrick’s pressed against Pete’s pillows and Pete’s bare chest warms Patrick’s clothed one. They kiss like there’s nowhere to go, no restaurant to attend to. The fire deep inside Patrick’s gut dares to stir awake, but Pete rolls off Patrick and onto his feet before Patrick can think about morning blowjobs and messy handjobs. “You can take the shower first. Here, I’ll teach you how to work it as I brush my teeth. I think I have a spare one somewhere…”

A blue toothbrush, a promise of omelets and hash browns, and a 10 minute instructional on how the hell the shower works later, Patrick’s showering with Pete’s body gel. If he were home, this is the part where he would have run back into his room to grab his phone so he could sing along to whatever new artist Ashley and Hayley had put him on to(this week, it was CupcakKe, so actually… probably not. Not that he doesn’t love singing ‘Spider-Man Dick’ at the top of his lungs, or anything…) but he’s not feeling too confident as to sing in Pete’s shower, with Pete himself only a couple of feet away. So, he deals.

It’s only in here that Patrick sees just _how many_ hickies Pete has put on him. He saw the ones on his neck while he brushed his teeth, ran the tips of his fingers over them just to try to remember the moment that they got there. What Pete was saying, what he was doing with his hands. But the rest of the hickies? They litter the surface of his stomach, look darker than they should since Patrick’s paler than pale, and he doesn’t even have to glance down to see the bruising around his soulmate mark. It’s nothing his ribbon can’t cover, but he still scrubs at it all the same… though, it’s more in an effort to get rid of the _name_ there. It never works, and Patrick knows it won’t slide off his body, slow like the way that soap suds travel down his back and over his thighs before they settle at his ankles, but it doesn’t hurt to try. Maybe the 183rd time is the charm?

He gets out of the shower shortly after he washes the shampoo out of his hair, and Pete yells out as soon as he hears the door close that he left some clothes out if Patrick wanted. And although Pete’s clothes are… pretty out there (Patrick pushes the kilt, the jacket with the ‘Big Daddy’ pin, and the pink Victoria Secret hoodie that he saw Pete wearing at the supermarket all of those weeks ago, with a grimace). He finds himself in one of Pete’s cozy long-sleeve tee shirts and his own pair of jeans since Pete’s are far too skinny for him. Patrick’s jeans, they have this not-so-mysterious white stain over the crotch that Patrick doesn’t even want to acknowledge.

What with wearing Pete’s clothes and having the smell of him embedded in his skin and in his hair, it’s extremely easy to feel a wave of... not even ‘want’, but _need_ when he moves back to the kitchen where Pete’s still shirtless and making breakfast. Pete turns and he gives Patrick this smile that make Patrick’s knees literally almost give out.

“I surprisingly had a lot of groceries,” Pete explains, before he hands Patrick one of the mugs of coffee that are sitting on the counter. “There’s milk in the fridge, I know you take it with milk and sugar. And the–”

“Sugar’s in the left bottom cabinet,” Patrick finishes Pete’s sentence, smiling back when Pete nods.

He gives everything in the kitchen another glance over. The bread in the toaster and the cut up peppers and onions on the plate and the bacon sizzling in the pot and the eggs in white bowls and hash-browns in the pan and the heat under his fingertips because of the coffee, and it all feels too fucking good to be true. It seems pretty pathetic to get emotional about breakfast after a hook-up, but it’s just strange. Strange that it’s with Pete and strange that it’s happening to him and that Pete’s treating him softly not even 12 hours after he begged for him to come over his face, and then there’s Shane’s voice in his head again, and maybe this is just common courtesy and Patrick’s just so fucking far removed from reality that _toast_ is going to make him cry.

“Woah, Trick,” Pete says, and the soft touch on Patrick’s mark-free wrist brings him back. The ribbon isn’t on the other one. “You good?”

Patrick gives Pete an uneasy smile. “I guess? I think everything is just—I’m just not used to this.”

“What?” Pete asks, and when the bell on the toaster goes off, Patrick turns so that his back is to Pete to get the toast, but mostly to avoid Pete’s gaze. “I’unno… Just… the first time I slept with Shane, he kick me out 10 minutes later because his friends were coming over and he didn’t want to come off like a pussy who liked to spend time with his soulmate. And every time after that wasn’t so eventful either. I’m just not used to breakfast… and the coffee, and the feeling like I’m being fucking respected.”

He pulls the pieces of toast from the toaster and onto the plates sitting in front of it as Pete asks, again, “Respected?”

Patrick turns to find Pete’s facing the other way too, working on the eggs and the potatoes. So, he talks to the tattoos on Pete’s back. “Yeah… before, sex, like... lowkey traumatized me. I used to be…”

There’s a long pause, save for Patrick going, “Um… well, I… uh,” and when Pete replies, Patrick can _hear_ the grin in it. “‘ _Kinky’_ the word you looking for?”

“Yeah, kinda. But then Shane exploited that and then took that as, well, ‘you’re just some stupid whore that likes getting slapped around and getting tied up’, and– and made it seem like it was my fault and then he told _me_ that _I_ didn’t know what _I_ wanted and if you liked it yesterday, you should like it today, and, and it was just _stupid shit_. But stupid shit that I can’t get out of my system? And stupid shit that he would just twist so it would fit his liking and not mine, and he would tell all of his friends what I liked, and then offer them to–”

He laughs nervously, and doesn’t go back to that thought. Pete’s shoulders are tense as he listens on. “So… yeah. But this is so different and you’re so good, and I guess it’s just… like, culture shock. Normal people eat breakfast together and drink coffee and not totally neglect people and let them crash on their own. It’s… it’s stupid, that’s all.”

He takes a deep breath and then the gravity of everything he’s said hits him. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean to just completely ruin the mood.”

And just before he really begins to freak out, Pete’s turning around and taking Patrick’s hands in his. It’s a quiet moment, Pete doesn’t say anything, just holds Patrick’s hands in his, looking down at their knuckles and probably at the way that Patrick’s shaking. But everything at a standstill makes it easy for all of the tension to seep out of Patrick’s body.

“I used to do this with Mikey,” Pete says softly. “I don’t think it ever really helped, but _sometimes_ quiet is good. It grounds you.”

“I don’t think it’s the silence, I think it’s _you_ ,” Patrick says. There’s that pull in his chest again, but he lets it sit and simmer where his heart is until everything feels all bubbly and sparkly. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Pete says, running his thumb over Patrick’s. “And trust me, breakfast is not that normal. Everyone usually leaves before I can show-off. I think that’s why I was super clingy, I didn’t want you to leave. It’s nice waking up to someone next to you. Or, er, underneath you…”

Patrick laughs despite himself, remembering waking up briefly in the middle of the night to all of Pete’s weight on top of him. “It’s okay, it was nice waking up next to someone too. Even if I was getting choked out.”

“It was for, like, 10 seconds,” Pete waves him off, remembering the alarm clock debacle. And he begins to say something else, but a popping sound from the stove stops him in his tracks, so he turns to attend to that. “Also, how do you want your eggs?”

“I don’t know… eggy?” Patrick says, and he reaches inside the fridge for the milk. “What do you have?”

“Bell peppers, hot peppers, black pepper… shallot… I ran out of cheese but there’s some grilled chicken that I think is good, uh, there’s onions… and some Hot Cheetos,” Pete lists off, looking into his bowls of ingredients. “And I have a shitload of seasoning.”

When Patrick gives Pete a weird look, Pete gives him a confused one back. “Hot Cheetos?” Patrick asks, pouring milk into his coffee. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s good!” Pete exclaims, and he throws some cut up Hot Cheetos (Patrick has to stop himself from laughing at the thought of some Hot Cheetos on a cutting board) into his own egg mix. “It’s on our secret menu, I think.”

“We do not have a secret menu,” Patrick deadpans, and Pete laughs as he shakes his head. “No, we totally have a secret menu. I think Tyler and Hayley did it. It’s ridiculous… like, two dollars for Josh to leave his station and smile at someone, and fifty for Hayley to dye someone’s hair in the bathroom.”

“ _How_ did you allow this to happen?” Patrick asks, leaning against the counter and drinking from Pete’s mug. He also nods when Pete holds up the rest of the Hot Cheetos so that he’ll put it in Patrick’s mix. If it’s on the secret menu and everything…

“I don’t know? Mikey was way more serious than me, so when he died, all rules kinda flew out the door? Like, Hayley and Tyler asked me if they could make a secret menu and I told them it was stupid and then 15 minutes later, they told me we had a secret menu. I let everyone kinda walk all over me,” Pete rolls his eyes a little, and Patrick scoffs. “You yelled at Ashley and Hayley for making out in the kitchen for 5 minutes straight yesterday.”

“Because it’s so unsanitary!” Pete exclaims. “Not in the kitchen is my only rule and everyone breaks it.”

Patrick silently agrees that everyone breaks that rule– he’s seen some questionable shit happen in the kitchen. “I guess. But anyway, I think it’s cute. Everyone… well, they… hmm…”

“I let people get away with a lot,” Pete says sadly and Patrick nods. “Yeah a little. It’s good, it’s better than what Shane was, if that makes you feel better. Like, at least no one is afraid for their life if they take 5 more minutes for break.”

“Tyler and Josh full out fucked in the break room 5 minutes _after_ Tyler’s break ended,” Pete says, straight-faced. Straight-faced until he breaks out into a laugh because Patrick’s laughing too.

“Tyler’s a different case, I can’t believe you haven’t fired him yet.”

“It’s Tyler,” Pete shrugs, and yeah, somehow that does make all of the difference. He flips their eggs over onto the plates with the toast and hashbrowns and says, “Breakfast’s done.” 

The rest of their morning is easy after that. The Hot Cheetos special is surprisingly amazing, the coffee’s too strong, just the way that he knows Pete makes it, and the hashbrowns taste exactly the way that they do at the restaurant, but better? Maybe it was just because it was the two of them together. They sit across from each other at the dining table, talking over the Beach House album that Patrick put on. It’s something out of those dreams that Patrick used to have, where the sun is out and the air is warm and the conversation is lacking a little, but the music fills the spaces between the words and seeps into the cracks of where Patrick’s broken, so that he feels complete again, even if it’s just for a little bit.

* * *

The route to the restaurant from Pete’s place is non-offensive enough for the both of them to walk there. They’re running just a little late, since Patrick had to walk around a couple blocks with Steve while Pete took his shower, but they make it in time to see Ashley and MJ struggling to open the door.

“You don’t have the key?” Pete asks, watching Ashley attempt to pick the lock with a bobby pin, and the both of them jump when they hear his voice. And then their eyes all shift to Patrick, who’s with him.

“No, I left it at home,” MJ says, rushed like she wants to– “So how was your night, guys?”

Patrick rubs at his neck a little, trying to hide the damning evidence, though it does nothing but highlight it. “I mean… good. We watched a movie…”

“And Patrick slept over,” Pete says, staying vague. Patrick continues, “And then we had breakfast and walked Steve and now we’re here.”

“That’s good,” Ashley says, and she gives Patrick a ‘ _we need to talk about the scandalous things I know you did last night_ ’ kind of look, one that she usually reserves for Tyler. “The three of us had fun…”

She thinks for a moment, and MJ pipes in, “We hotboxed the car, remember?”

“Oh, duh!” Ashley says, nervously twirling her blue hair, “Yeah, we had fun. Lots of… weed.”

Pete and Patrick share a glance of their own. Like maybe this hotboxing the car thing was just a cover-up to get the two of them alone.

“Sounds fun,” Patrick agrees, and just before this can get more awkward than it’s already become, Pete shifts so he can unlock the door and he let everyone in so that they can help open up, getting the restaurant set for the day. The restaurant on its own, without the customers and the music from the speakers, is incredibly lonely, but everything gets settled sooner or later, especially when all of Patrick’s friends arrive at the same time.

“Patrick!” Tyler exclaims, pulling Patrick by his ribbon-clad wrist away from his spot from where he was fixing some chairs up, all the way into the kitchen, where Sameer and Hayley are waiting too. “You didn’t text back last night, so… we’re fucking dying here. Our minds have been coming up with a thousand scenarios.”

“I love how you phrased that,” Sam says. “Like, our minds are all connected."

“I think there’s a word for that?” Hayley asks, bringing a hand up to touch one of the marks on Patrick’s neck. “Cryptophasia or something. Dude, you gotta tell Pete to be a little more subtle with his hickey placement if you want to keep this a secret.”

“That’s, like, when twins have a secret language between them. Not like a mind-meld between three different people,” Patrick says, wincing a little because of Hayley’s cold fingers.

“I don’t care about _that_!” Tyler exclaims. “Did anything happen?”

Patrick looks between the three friends and shrugs nonchalantly, even though he can’t stop himself from grinning. “I mean… a lot of things happened. We made pumpkin squares, and–”

“Bitch…” Hayley warns. “I mean, okay, timeout, if you don’t wanna tell us, you shouldn’t feel obligated. But _bitch_.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m just teasing,” Patrick says, before he adds, in a low and hushed voice, “So… we started making out…”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Sameer says and Tyler nods. “Yeah, any five year old would be able to figure that out. What else! Did you…”

He trails off, before he mimics giving a blowjob. An imitation that has Hayley gagging and Sameer looking vaguely creeped out.

“I don’t think that’s how people give blowjobs…” Sam says, and Tyler takes a step back, looking offended. “Oh, because _you’ve_ given a– oh shit, oh yeah! How could I forget?”

“Wait, _what_?” Patrick asks, and Sameer gives Patrick a sheepish look. “Ex-boyfriend. It was high school, way before Jess.”

“One day, we’re gonna have to go through all of our tragic backstories. Today is not that day. Blowjob, yes or no?!” Tyler exclaims, throwing his hands into the air in frustration.

“ _Yes_!” Patrick yells back, and the three of them _scream_ , a sound that Patrick isn’t prepared for. He didn’t know his sex life was that interesting… but he guessed wrong. It takes a good couple of seconds before Sameer settles everyone down, “Wait, wait, hold on, who did it?”

“Well, I did,” Patrick says, like he’s pointing out the obvious. “It was hot. Guys, it was hot. Pete has a _tattoo_.”

“The reverse tramp-stamp type tattoo?” Tyler asks, his nose scrunched up. “Gross. Granted, I’ve never been eye level with it.”

“No, it was hot,” Patrick says. “I’m not really into tattoos–”

All three friends roll their eyes since they all have tattoos.

“–but it was hot. And he wasn’t forceful with it, it was, like, the chilliest blowjob ever. It was relaxing in a way. It was… slow and–”

“This is turning me on,” Tyler says. “Keep going.”

“You’re vile,” Hayley says to him, before she turns her attention back to Patrick. “But yeah, keep going. So what, you blew him and that’s it? He didn’t return the favor?”

“They didn’t go all the way,” Sameer says. “Come on, that’s– Pete’s too emotional for that.”

“Pete’s too emotional?” Patrick asks, and Sameer shrugs. “I don’t know, I feel like– why, _did_ you guys?”

“No way,” Tyler shakes his head. “No fucking way. I mean, fingering? Totally. But–”

“Wait, no, he’s being quiet,” Hayley says, and when Patrick blushes harder, Hayley’s eyes widen. “They did it. They _fucked_.”

“Patrick,” Sameer and Tyler say at the same time, and when Patrick gives them a single nod, they all scream _again_.

“NO WAY,” Hayley screams over Tyler and Sameer arguing about a bet that they placed. “NO WAY, PATRICK.”

“Yeah!” Patrick says, his face still red. “We– God, he was jerking me off, right, and then I was babbling nonsense and somewhere in that mix, I asked him to fuck me, and then he asked if I was sure and I said yes, and… he fucked me. Like...he _fucked_ me.”

They all know that it happened, but they still scream all at the same time again, laughing when Patrick shushes them. “Guys, shut the hell up!”

“Patrick, this is monumental,” Hayley shakes her head. “You and Pete had sex. Full on _sex_! I mean, it was a long time coming, but… but this is so exciting!”

“It’s really not,” Patrick stresses, “you guys are just major perverts.”

“Mans not wrong,” Tyler shrugs. “We are total creeps. So, bareback?”

Sameer pushes Tyler a little, staring at him in disbelief. “Dude!”

“No,” Patrick says, and he turns red again, remembering that… while there was a condom, it’s not like cum ended up in the trashcan. “Well… okay. Fuck.”

“Half bareback?” Tyler asks, with confusion set in his eyebrows.

“It’s embarrassing,” Patrick crosses his arms. “I don’t wanna say it.”

“That’s fine,” Hayley tells him, still grinning. “We still got all of the good details.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, letting his embarrassment and frustration with his nosy friends fade away. “It was… pretty awesome. I don’t know what it means exactly, we didn’t talk about it or anything, but… like, I didn’t know that sex could be like that.”

“Like?” Sam asks, and Patrick shrugs. “Like… I wasn’t scared or anything. I felt safe. Even though we were being kinky."

“Kinky…” Tyler mutters to himself, shaking his head. “Rick, you a whole thot.”

“He’s not a thot,” Hayley elbows Tyler in the gut. “If anyone here is a thot, it’s you. Actually, Sameer’s a thot, too.”

“I am,” Sameer says sadly. “It’s a curse. I mean, I’m only a thot with one person. You, on the other hand–”

“Shut up,” Tyler says, and for the first time during this whole conversation, the mood gets a little tense. “I’m working on fixing it.”

“Riiiiiight…” Sameer says back, rolling his eyes. And a particular blue haired person comes to everyone’s mind. The one person missing, the other member of their little band.

“Anyway,” Hayley says, trying to steer this back before a full blown argument emerges. “We’re happy for you, Patrick. We should celebrate tonight! Drinks and Fifty Shades Darker.”

“Everyone? Is Pete coming too?” Patrick jokes, and Hayley laughs. “Is Pete _coming_? I dunno, Trick, that’s up to you…”

The four of them burst into laughter again, loud enough for Pete to hear apparently, because Pete makes his way into the kitchen from his office and asks, wide-eyed and curious, “What’s happening? What’s so funny?”

Patrick, Sam, Tyler and Hayley all turn to look at Pete in surprise, as he continues to ask, honest-to-god innocently, “I wanna hear, what’s happening?”

“Uh,” Patrick begins to say, before Tyler cuts in quickly, “Nothing, old man. It doesn’t concern you.”

“It _definitely_ concerns–” Sam begins to say, before Tyler clasps a hand over his mouth. “Nothing!”

“I’m not that old,” Pete says, crossing his arms as he frowns. “I’m not... that old?”

“You’re not old,” Patrick reassures him, and Tyler awws. “That’s so cute. Also, Pete, fix your hickey placement, you both suck at subtlety.”

Shock doesn’t even _begin_ to describe the look on Pete’s face. Patrick just buries his head in his hands.

Having friends is both a blessing and a curse.

* * *

Thanks to the good six or so hours that Pete slept, he’s on _fire_. Sleeping for that long is sort of a rarity, since he’s usually banking on three during the night and then a couple of unscheduled naps on his couch occasionally, so for the first time in forever, he feels like a semi-functioning human being. He’s running around the kitchen, making half a dish before he hands it to someone else because he wants to do something else, and he’s dancing to music at his desk as he makes out everyone’s paychecks, and he’s meeting people in the restaurant section and asking how the food is like a proper owner, and– and he’s not feeling manic, at least he doesn’t think so. He’s just being himself. Someone he hasn’t been in a really long time.

“Pete!” MJ laughs when Pete comes up to her to help her make a breakfast sandwich. “I’m fine! It’s a fucking _sandwich_. I forgot that you do that.”

“What?” He asks, faking sadness when MJ pulls the carton of eggs from his hands forcefully and sets it down by the stove.

“Run around the place like an overexcited puppy? Like Steve when I drop a piece of chocolate on the floor, kinda. And then I have to wrestle it out of his mouth.”

Pete can visualize that so well in his head, so perfectly, that he cringes. “I _hope_ that’s not how I’m coming off. I feel fucking good. I know it’ll crash and burn in my face in a couple hours and I’ll be back to my regular self, so don’t worry about–”

“Shhhh,” She shushes him. “It’s not annoying. It’s making me _happy_. I hope this doesn’t come off as– seeing you happy and well rested for once, it lifts my spirits.”

She pauses and then says as a joke, “If I knew that sex with Patrick could do this, then I would have gone to Moon to convince Brendon and Ryan to do desserts ages ago.”

The pair both shudder at the mention of Moon Café and two annoying as shit owners, before Pete says, with redness tinging at his cheeks, “It wasn’t– it wasn’t _just_ the sex. It was more like just, sleeping next to someone and that warmth and feeling secure enough with them to let my guard down a little.”

And then he scowls. “Also, fuck you for that ‘hotboxing the car’ lie. I should have caught on sooner, but… y’know. I was a little lovestruck.”

“You’re dramatic,” MJ says with a grin. “Also… oops? The sexual tension was through the roof, it was grossing me out. And anyway, it’s not like the plan backfired or anything!”

“Whatever,” he grumbles. “Like, thank you for essentially throwing us at each other because we’re both stupid and stubborn, but–”

“Stop talking, just thank me and move on,” she pats his shoulder lovingly– she’s still a good couple of inches taller than him, and he crosses his arms as he looks up. “Now, kindly go bother someone else, the toast is burning. Tonight, I’m all yours if you need to freakout.”

“A freakout is long overdue,” Pete sighs, before he gives MJ a hopeful enough smile. “Thanks for everything. Don’t feel like being stupid and sentimental right now, but you’re the best.”

“Stupid and sentimental is only fun when we’re drunk,” MJ agrees, and then she smiles back. “And it’s no problem, you know I love you. Now… go away.”

That’s pretty much the nicest send off that Pete’s ever received, so he takes it with ease. And he’s about to go bother Patrick, who’s rolling some cookie dough and is very visibility trying to hold off dancing since they’re playing ‘Controversy’ by Prince on the radio, but he decides to go back out into the trenches to go get an iced coffee first… and to go check and make sure that Tyler’s doing his job.

He catches Patrick’s eye on the way out, as Patrick moves his shoulders to the music, and from this angle, he notices one of the marks on his neck, and the way that they stand out since Patrick’s wearing his black shirt, and he feels a brief wave of _hot_ come over him. Patrick wearing _his_ clothes will never not be sexy. They smile at each other from across the kitchen, and then Patrick goes back to the cookie dough, so Pete goes back to whatever he was doing, but there’s nothing that Pete loves more, though, than those little glances.

As it turns out, Tyler isn’t doing his job, but that’s not really much of a surprise. He’s standing at the bar, arguing with Josh, and right when Pete’s gonna play therapist (truly a case of the blind leading the blind), Tyler rolls his eyes hard enough for Pete to _feel_ it and then he walks away and shouts, “I have to get back to work,” to which Josh says, “Wow, I didn’t know you did that!”

“Hey…” Pete says tentatively, and when Josh looks over to him, Pete instantly feels bad for bothering him. Because he looks the way that Pete feels most of the time. Tired and pissed off and in the mood to get high and crawl into bed. And it’s not even the dark circles underneath his eyes, it’s mostly the look _in_ them.

“Hey Pete,” Josh says, leaning over the bar and resting his elbows over the flat surface. “What’s up?”

“Nothing really…” Pete trails off again, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He doesn’t know what to say to Josh, really. He never really said anything regarding Josh’s soulmate’s death, considering he found out _yesterday_ and besides, he’s sure it’s not exactly public knowledge. Still, it feels fucked to know something is up and not say anything. “You know I’m always here if you need to talk, right?”

Josh blinks at him, still a little lost about what’s happening. “…thanks Pete. I know now.”

This is going nowhere fast. Pete kind of wants to punch himself in the face for this. “Well… as long as you know…”

“…oh, for Christ’s sake, who told you? Tyler?” Josh asks suddenly, after gauging the look on Pete’s face, the uncertainty, and the wanting to not say the wrong thing but still wanting to say _something,_ the vibe that Josh has been dealing with from all of his friends already.

“No! It wasn’t, I promise,” Pete says, “It was... Uh. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You know I went through like… dead soulmate shit. It fucking sucks, but you’re gonna be okay. At least you didn’t–”

“Pete,” Josh says, laughing uncomfortably, “It’s fine. Or, no, it’ll be fine. I’d rather talk to you about it, like, anywhere but here. And over a lot of alcohol.”

“So do you want to talk about it in my office?” Pete asks. “Like. Whatever, you’ll be on the clock. I don’t care, I know how hard it is to get out of bed when you feel like absolute shit and everything inside is aching.”

Josh considers his options for a couple of seconds, before he nods. “Yeah, I’ll come. You know, you’re way too lenient of a boss, right?”

Pete raises an eyebrow. “Are you complaining?”

Josh cracks a half-hearted grin. “Hell no.”

He leaves his station after that, apologizing to Greta who just sighs in response, and he follows Pete through the kitchen (Sameer gives Josh a weird glance across the kitchen, and Josh gives him a look that reads, ‘Pete’s playing therapist again,’ to which Sameer laughs heartily, loud enough for Patrick to look over, confused, and he mouths ‘ _good luck’_ , before they get to his office.

“I didn’t tell you anything because I thought it was dumb,” Josh says to Pete before he even sits down. “I didn’t know her, and you were _married_. There’s a huge difference there. It was easier to just… forget about the world for a while.”

“What about…” Pete waves his hands around, a motion that’s supposed to stand for _‘Patrick, Ashley, Hayley, MJ, Sameer, and Tyler_ ’.

Josh shifts in his seat. “Well… I haven’t been hanging out in a while. And the whole group dynamic only really works when we’re all friends. Sam and Tyler are closer friends, Ashley and Sam are closer friends, and then Hayley and Ash are a two-in-one deal. And Tyler and I… We aren’t getting along so–”

“So they just leave you alone during all of this?” Pete asks, and he feels a little bit of anger spike in him because his friends and family were the _only_ people keeping him going at that point in his life. “What the fuck?”

“I want to be alone,” Josh stresses. “And I’m used to being the odd one out. And I should get used to being alone anyway, right?”

Pete wants so badly to smack some sense into Josh, but it would be a case of the pot calling the kettle black. That’s exactly Pete’s thought process about the whole goddamn thing, but suddenly, it sounds so stupid coming from someone else. Because, no, Josh isn’t destined and no one is destined to be alone forever, but aren’t they, technically, but they aren’t, and–

“What?” Pete asks, sputtering over his words, having been lost in his own confusing jumble of thoughts. “No, that’s not true. You’ll– no, that’s not–”

Josh looks away, embarrassment clear on his face. “You always hear that your soulmate is the only person in the world built to handle you and love you. And now that that’s dead, it’s like- well, _shit_. And even if it’s just people trying to make sense of whatever is on their wrists and nothing is actually rooted in reality, no one is ever gonna live up to _that_.”

That inevitable freakout comes a little earlier than expected, but Pete keeps quiet as he lets the storm in his head play out. Pete, he believed the same thing. That his soulmate was the only person in the world for him, and once that was gone, that was it. No one would ever understand him the way that Mikey did, no one was ever going to love him like that, or know exactly what he liked in bed and what kind of ice cream he wanted when he was upset. No one was ever going to know Pete better than he knew himself, which is what Mikey _did_.

And then Patrick came along and changed everything.

Not even in the sense that Pete feels those things for Patrick, he knows it’s too easy and too early to throw around the words ‘love’ or ‘soulmate’ (though it’s been brewing in his mind), but because Patrick’s soulmate wasn’t like that. They weren’t a match made in heaven and it wasn’t the fairytale that gets fed into everyone as soon as they’re able to fucking think. He thinks back to the first night that Patrick called him and he thinks about the way that Patrick cried over the phone, and his stomach twists. That’s not love, but there’s still a name on Patrick’s wrist and a name on Shane’s, and there’s no explanation for it. It’s just two people thrown together without a choice, a recipe for disaster even though the cookbook says it’s going to come out great in the end.

There are too many cooking analogies going on here, but the sentiment remains the same. And Pete doesn’t want to outright say, ‘Well, she could have been your worst nightmare, so you might have dodged a bullet there’, but–

“I think…” Pete begins to say, running everything through a mental filter, “I think that no one will ever live up to the expectations we put on them. And that soulmate thing… it’s not like that all of the time. Romance is romance, and that’s all fine and good, but there’s beauty in choice, you know? The universe is fucked, you’re born with names and there are so many things that just… like that whole nature and nurture thing, you know, and— oh fuck, I’m not making sense.”

“You aren’t,” Josh says kindly. “It’s okay. I know it’s a fucked up situation.”

“It is, but I–I thought about soulmates the same way that you are right now, and I still do think like that, kind of… but I’m realizing that it’s useless. Like, if someone makes you happy and you feel comfortable with them and they treat you right, why the fuck not? Trick’s soulmate was so fucking horrible to him. That relationship is still the most toxic shit I’ve ever heard in my life, and they were soulmates, and—I’m just realizing that everything is kinda bullshit and having a good soulmate is sheer luck.”

Josh frowns. “Yeah, Tyler’s guy was the same. And that stuff still gets to him and eats at his brain and _all_ of his logic. And I tell him the same thing you’re telling me, but it’s hard when it’s you who’s dealing with it. I keep… fuck, you know, like, I keep running in circles. That this person was going to get me out of the shithole I’ve buried myself in. And all of my problems would have been solved and I would finally be happy. But I guess it’s what I deserve for–”

“It was an accident, no one planned it,” Pete says. “It wasn’t your fault, there wasn’t anything that you did, and therefore nothing you deserve.”

The sentence hangs in the air for a moment and Pete’s eyes widen when he realizes what he’s said.

So basically, he’s the biggest hypocrite in the world.

“Are you okay?” Josh asks, furrowing his eyebrows. “You look like you just had a big revelation."

“I did have a big revelation,” Pete says, still a little lost in _OH MY GOD_ , and Josh blinks. “Oh. Shit. Congrats.”

And okay, Josh’s reaction isn’t the most exciting thing in the world, but inside, Pete feels like he’s gonna vomit or something. The one thing stopping him in the world is something Pete just dismissed like no big deal. He feels like celebrating, even though it means virtually nothing to him, because there’s still that part of him, telling him that it was his fault, that if he didn’t leave his journal at home, Mikey wouldn’t have gone to go get it, and Mikey wouldn’t have gotten into the accident.

“Fuck, sorry, this isn’t about me,” Pete suddenly says, returning his attention to the conversation. “I’m really bad at this.”

“I mean, at least you aren’t a professional?” Josh offers weakly. “It’s okay, Pete. I really do appreciate you trying to help, it’s a lot more than my other friends are doing… even though I haven’t been reaching out. You know when you ignore your friends and tell them you want to be left alone, and then you get upset when they actually listen? It’s like that.”

“That’s dumb,” Pete waves Josh off. “They’re your friends, and considering how nosy everyone is, they should know what’s up. Especially when it’s your soulmate. _Jeez_. I’ll talk to–”

“Don’t,” Josh scrunches his nose up. “I hate looking desperate. It’s fine. I’ll deal. I’ve _been_ dealing. Sometimes I think I need my space too. Not that I totally don’t love going grocery shopping with, like, seven people. Music therapy is incredibly helpful.”

“What have you been listening to?” Pete asks, and Josh grins before he goes into a full speech about what’s been helping, in three categories; _Angry, Sad_ , and _Sadder_. And, as Josh details to Pete that you should never pair _Angry_ and _Sadder_ together because then you’re going to want to stab yourself in the chest over and over again (Pete listens on with a wince), thoughts of Patrick and Shane float in and out. Pete’s felt violent before, he’s been in fights where he’s blacked out and came to with blood on his hands, but Shane makes him see _white_ almost. It’s like how he feels when he thinks about Brendon storming into his restaurant and getting up in Patrick’s face, and Pete almost _wants_ to run into Shane in the street, just so he can sock him in the nose and reconstruct his face.

But then Patrick makes all of that fade away, until the only thing Pete feels is sadness. And it’s not pity, but it’s more like… Pete just wishes that things were different. Like the look on Patrick’s face before Pete pulled the last article of his clothes off, the way that he searched for trust in him, the way he squeezed his eyes shut when he begged to come, like he had to force the words out of his mouth. Pete wishes that there was none of that. He wants to be the best version of himself for Patrick because that’s what Patrick deserves, but at his core, Pete is all sharp edges and bloody hands and mean words on the tip of his tongue that are spat out in the form of vicious poetry. But… if Patrick is his choice, he’ll make it count for something. If Patrick chooses him back… that’s a bridge to be crossed when he gets there.

“I think I’m gonna head back,” Josh says, pulling Pete out of his mini-trance. “Greta doesn’t say it or show, it but I know she’s always pissed at me for leaving her hanging.”

“Poor Greta,” Pete says. “I have to give her a raise or something. She’s always just listening to everyone’s bullshit.”

“Yeah,” Josh laughs. “And thanks, man. I don’t know… it feels good to get some stuff out of my system, even if it just leaves more room for other shit to pile up.”

“I’m glad I could help, even if it was for nothing in the long run,” Pete shrugs. “And yeah, I feel that. But… just don’t mix your _Anger_ and _Sadder_ playlist whatever you do.”

“Tyler’s been through some traumatic shit. I don’t think seeing me dead with 17 stab wounds in my chest would make that better,” Josh says back, and Pete shakes his head a little at the notion that he just essentially told Josh not to kill himself, and Josh said he wouldn’t because Tyler wouldn’t be able to handle it. He guesses that’s love… if he peels back all of the layers.

As Josh leaves, another person comes to the door– Pete doesn’t even have to look to know who it is.

“Oh hey, J,” Patrick says, pushing past him to get into the office next. “Hey Rick,” Pete can barely hear Josh say back, and Patrick waves from the door before he turns back to Pete and closes the door behind him. “ _Hey_.”

“Hey,” Pete says, straightening up a little in his seat. Again, the way that the lighting in the office is set up, Patrick’s hickies are clear as day against his white skin and his gold hair shines, and Pete _knows_ if he were close enough, he would smell his own body wash and shampoo, and Patrick’s wearing Pete’s clothes, and– Patrick is just so hot, leaning against the door and looking over to Pete through his glasses. It sounds like low standards, to just have glasses and be leaning against a door, but it’s _Patrick_.

“Are you busy?” Patrick asks, and Pete shrugs. “I mean… depends. Why?”

“I’m done for the afternoon,” Patrick says. “We could go out for an early dinner before I have to come back for the night shift.”

“Like on a date?” Pete asks, and his heart feels like it’s about to burst out his goddamn chest. For a date… or it might just be Patrick.

“Yeah,” Patrick says, “is that… like, no pressure, obviously, but–”

When Pete gets up to kiss Patrick, Patrick’s already moving forward to meet him. Their kiss is rough and desperate, like Patrick’s been itching to get his hands on Pete too, and that only fuels Pete’s passion more. It’s too awkward to stand and Pete feels like his knees are going to give out just because kissing Patrick is _like_ that, knocks him off his feet, so Pete pulls them down so his back is half-bent over his desk and Patrick’s above him, kissing his neck and running his teeth where he knows a light bruise is. Tyler was right- they _do_ need to be a little careful. But Patrick whimpers where Pete presses over a hickey and suddenly, Pete doesn’t care if the whole world knows that they’re fucking.

“Moving kinda slow here,” Patrick sarcastically remarks, breathless when Pete snakes a hand between their bodies to blindly unzip Patrick’s pants. Pete just pulls Patrick closer with his free hand on his jaw so they can continue to half make-out, half run their tongues over each other’s. Because that’s essentially what this is. Wet and messy in the best kind of way. Patrick’s glasses are on lopsided and they dig into Pete’s nose uncomfortably, but he doesn’t want to move just yet.

“I wanna suck your dick,” Pete says to him, muffled because of the tongue in his mouth. He loves how dirty Patrick kisses. _God_ , he loves the unexpected side to Patrick that’s slowly, slowly, _slowly_ unraveling. “Seeing you in my clothes is such a turn-on, you have no fucking idea.”

Patrick hums his appreciation for this idea, and when Pete gets a dry hand around Patrick’s half hard cock, Patrick’s moaning into his mouth. “The door,” he says, and shifts so that he can look at Pete, his eyes wide before they close shut when Pete feels slickness in the form of pre-cum on his thumb, “We should… we should lock the door.”

Pete thinks back briefly to all of the times he’s been caught in compromising positions just because he forgot to lock the door, so he nods. “Yeah, fuck, imagine? MJ’s suddenly scarred for life.”

And when Patrick laughs, a sweet sound that breaks the intensity that’s begun to build in the room, Pete pulls him in for a sweeter kiss to match.

Pete, he stands up on shaky legs before he walks over to lock the door so that it’s just the two of them. And when he looks back to Patrick, in the glasses and the unbuttoned pants, with the disheveled hair, Pete holds a hand out, one that Patrick takes, so he can pull him closer. They bump noses and Patrick accidentally steps on Pete’s foot, but they keep their hands together with their fingers intertwined when they kiss again. The whole kissing thing surprisingly hasn’t gotten old. Pete’s favorite thing ever is kissing– he’s just glad that Patrick feels the same way, even though he knows that Patrick’s waiting for more, and he can practically feel excitement buzzing underneath Patrick’s skin.

“I’m gonna get on my knees now, that okay?” Pete asks him with a small smirk, and Patrick nods quickly.

They shift positions a little, so that it’s Patrick up against the door and Pete in front of him, and when Pete drops down, Patrick’s head thuds against the door and he groans. “I can’t look, I’m gonna come. _Fuck_.”

“Already?” Pete teases, even though his hands slightly shake as he reaches up to unzip Patrick’s jeans. Patrick’s hands, one is holding onto the knob of the door and the other is awkwardly hanging there, so Pete takes it and moves it so that it’s on top of his head. “You should pull it, I like that.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Patrick says again, “Fuck, I can’t believe you.”

And when he tugs experimentally on Pete’s hair, Pete’s hands move faster, urging Patrick’s pants down, and he’s wearing a pair of Pete’s underwear too, and—

With other people, men or women, Pete would pretend that they were Mikey. Obviously it got a little tricky when pussy was involved, but... it was easy for him to think about Mikey, so that he wouldn’t consider it cheating. That it was Mikey’s hands, his long and skinny fingers, that were buried in his hair, and it was Mikey’s body. Which sounds a little creepy in retrospect but Pete _missed_ Mikey, missed the way that he would fuck his throat or pull on his hair. But right now, everything in his body is screaming _Patrick._

Patrick’s fully hard by the time Pete gets his mouth on him. Pete hears Patrick exhale shakily and the hand in his hair pulls, so Pete _moves._ One hand is on Patrick’s hip, digging in where he knows there’s a bruise, and the other is working on getting his own pants off since it’s become uncomfortable with how hard he is. Patrick isn’t even being that vocal, they’re being _extremely_ mindful that all of their friends are separated only by a wall, but it’s just him that’s turning Pete the fuck on. The way that he has literally no qualms in pulling Pete’s hair hard and the whining in the back of his throat since he’s not making loud noises and the look on his face when Pete glances up at him, opening his eyes after all of those years of keeping them shut because the person he was going to see wasn’t the person he wanted them to be.

“He never,” Patrick’s eyes close shut when Pete laps at the head of his dick with his tongue. “He– Okay, sometimes, but he _barely_ did this.”

“Stop thinking about him,” Pete says softly, and Patrick’s hand in his hair tightens when he whimpers. “My head game is kinda lacking but...just relax. Let me take care of you. Come whenever, it’s cool. Also, _ow_ , you’re pulling too hard.”

Patrick laughs, apologizing as he lovingly soothes over the spot on Pete’s scalp. “Sorry. Okay, I’ll-– _Oh Jesus fuck,_ give me a warning!?”

From that point on, it’s a lot of wet sounds– Pete’s still not that great at blowjobs. Patrick seems to be enjoying it enough, however, what with the way that he’s sighing softly behind the hand that he clasped over his mouth so that no one would hear them. He bangs his head on the door when Pete begins to deepthroat him, a task that Pete is truly putting all of his efforts in to do, and when someone knocks on the door and asks if Pete’s okay, Patrick _shrieks_ out, _“_ YEAH, WE’RE FINE.”

But besides all of that, the quick breaks to laugh at something the other person did, whether it’s Patrick laughing at Pete choking or Pete laughing at one of the sounds Patrick has made, Patrick comes quick. His breaths quicken, and he stutters out, “P-Pete, I’m gonna–”, and when Pete hums his appreciation for that around him, with his eyes still on Patrick, Patrick comes. A muffled scream and his hand in Pete’s hair pulling, and suddenly there’s cum in Pete’s mouth and down his throat.

He coughs a little as Patrick comes back to and his breathing evens out. His throat feels thoroughly fucked even though it wasn’t, but that doesn’t stop him from croaking out as he watches Patrick fix his pants back up, “Was that good? I feel like I get too excited and then it just ends up being too much teeth, and–”

Patrick answers him by getting on his knees too so that they’re level, and kissing him. “It was amazing,” he says, cupping Pete’s face, pressing kisses over it as Pete rubs off on Patrick’s thigh, his cock still trapped in his boxer briefs. “Now stop talking or you’re gonna get a sore throat,” Patrick says, with a dirty grin.

“What if I want one?” Pete asks, his voice broken and scratchy, and he moans loudly when he watches Patrick spit on his hand so it’s slippery around his cock. He’d didn’t know that hand jobs could get him off this quickly, but the itch in his throat, and Patrick’s hands, and Patrick’s hair, and the smell of his own shampoo, and–

He comes in ropes over Patrick’s fist, throwing his head back as he lets out a broken moan.

They lock eyes as Patrick sucks his fingers into his mouth, licking off the mess.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Pete says, his voice barely a whisper. “ _Fuck_.”

There’s a pause where they’re just staring at each other, unsure what to do next.

“So… you still up for dinner?” Patrick suggests, and when Pete leans over to laugh in the material of _his_ shirt, Patrick laughs too, and they’re happy. At least, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i believe this is what they call the calm before the storm?????  
> ^ the inner fob bitch in me is screaming the lyrics rn. SAT OUTSIDE MY FRONT WINDOW THIS STORY'S GOING SOMEWHERE HE'S WELL HUNG AND I AM HANGING ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN
> 
> as always, please leave a comment or a kudos if u liked/hated/loved/think that the characters in this fic are on break way too much/think that eapotato doesnt sound like a sanitary and functioning restaurant (*pete voice* stop making out in the kitchen)/want to wish me luck on my finals !!! <3 thanks as always for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao y'all... im so sorry this is so late DGSDHADSADH im in the middle of finals week and im lowkey dying because of the pressure to get all As after an unfortunate C last semester BUT YOU KNOW ME???? THE WORST so you know i was writing while i was supposed to be studying. we love a good instance of self sabotage! 
> 
> here's what you missed on eapotato: not much to be honest! we're all wondering how last chapter ended up being about 9k words! tyler, sam and hayley decided that they HAD to throw a little 'PETE AND PATRICK FINALLY FUCKED' party, since... pete and patrick finally fucked!! speaking of sex, pete blew patrick at the end of the last chapter and patrick jerked him off in his office. pete's always going off about the cleanliness in the restaurant and its like... my guy.... lol -_- ALSO josh and pete talked a little and pete came to a Realization that mikey's death was an ACCIDENT and wasn't his fault. but we know how pete is... he's gonna keep blaming himself anyways. because pete, like myself, loves self sabotage! what else happened... OH, pete and patrick ate some hot cheetos in their eggs. 
> 
> also???? a lil reminder that i made a playlist! it is [here!](https://open.spotify.com/user/umabdhrm/playlist/573elPdY1TFXmFfn5f36i0?si=0xKtgqhLTtG--wxzl1fNsw)
> 
> you can also search 'edgar allan potato' on spotify and it'll pop up!! its good i promise!! well idk about that but I THINK its good

One thing Patrick has begun to realize about his friends is that if they say that they’re gonna do something involving alcohol, no matter how crazy the plan is, by the end of the day, it’s probably going to happen.

“Wait, are you serious?” Patrick asks, paling a little as he unties the ribbon on his apron. “I thought you guys were kidding about that. Pete and I made plans… of sorts… for tonight.”

Their plans are just to fuck again.  Both Pete and Patrick are well aware of this. It’s under the guise of ‘come over and watch a movie’, but that was the plan for yesterday as well, and _everyone_ knows how that went. At this point, Patrick would be surprised if everyone at the restaurant _didn't_ know. But it's strange? No one was mean about it, or talking shit behind his back... Gabe told Patrick that he's never seen Pete in such a good mood, and even though Patrick snapped and said it was probably because he had just gotten laid and not because of anything he himself did, Gabe shook his head and said that this time it was different. But then he got kinda weird and compared Pete's happiness to a pregnancy glow and said something about Patrick's _seed_ igniting a fire within Pete's _fragile_ and _broken_ soul, and then Patrick stopped listening. 

“Well, why don’t you invite him too?” Ashley suggests, referring back to Pete, before she pulls her baseball cap off and begins to undo the pins in her hair. “Hayley made a cake, she put writing on it and everything.”

Patrick’s eyes widen. "Shut the fuck up, she didn't."

Ashley grins. “Okay, fine, she didn't. But she wanted to! Come on, everyone is coming. We can’t celebrate you and Pete finally consummating the relationship if you guys aren’t even there, even though the irony of you guys not being there because you guys are doing it would almost make it worth it.”

“There’s no relationship,” Patrick sing-songs, since the initial shock at the idea of Hayley making a _‘HAPPY FIRST PETE &PATRICK SEX’ _ cake has worn off. “But whatever, I’ll ask if he’s down. _Everyone’s_ coming? Like Joe and Gabe and Trav?”

“Nah, I think just our group.” Ashley replies before she shakes her head, letting her hair breathe a little before she puts her cap back on. “Sam, maybe Jess, Josh, Tyler, Emj, the whole thing. It’s only for a couple of hours… we’ll all bond tomorrow when we come into work hungover. Maybe Pete’ll take pity on us if he’s hungover as well? Pleaaaaseeeee?”

“Josh and _Tyler_?” Patrick asks, his eyebrows pulled together. “Are you sure?”

“Well, I assumed… that’d be pretty fucking stupid if Tyler didn’t come because of Josh,” Ashley replies. “Okay, I’ll ask. You go tell Pete that you’re gonna have to postpone your dick appointment.”

And then she laughs when Patrick calls after her, “Don’t call it _that_ , gross!”

It’s the end of a day that seemed to last weeks. Between waking up in Pete’s bed in the morning and having breakfast with him, to the blowjob in Pete’s office, to their date at Portillo’s (he knows it’s not the most romantic, but his break was drastically diminished by the whole, y’know, _blowjob_ thing), to being back at work and dealing with the usual chaos that surrounds the restaurant, it’s the day that never seems to end. He’s a little tired, but it’s nothing that really bothers him. Especially since his sex life has dramatically increased within the past 24 hours. If anything, he feels like he’s on top of the world.

Patrick finds Pete in the break room, tidying up a bit, and when Pete spots Patrick, he immediately smiles. It lights the whole room up, and Patrick feels so warm.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is still a little messed up. “You ready to go? Scott Pilgrim in my DVD player is begging to be–”

“Slight change of plans?” Patrick says, phrased a little like a question. “It’s a really long and annoying story, but the girls want to know if we want to join everyone for a movie night. Drinks and chips?”

“What’re we watching?” Pete asks, and Patrick winces. “Uh. Fifty Shades Darker? We do this thing..., we’re just gonna make fun of it. I told them we had plans, but they—you know how they are. Plus, it’s– oh, Jesus Christ.”

“It’s Jesus Christ?” Pete jokes, grinning when Patrick rolls his eyes. “It’s in honor of us. Or something. I told you, they’re annoying.”

“Of us? Like what, they’re celebrating our sex life?” Pete asks, and Patrick nods. “Basically. I swear, I hate them too.”

“It’s cute,” Pete says, and when Patrick’s close enough to him, he pulls him closer by the hand until they’re kissing. “As long as I don’t have to buy anything, I’m fine.”

“You’re not freaking out about this?” Patrick asks, brushing his nose against Pete’s, before he pulls away and studies Pete’s face. “We’re not– whatever this is...it’s not moving too fast?”

“I don’t think so…” Pete doesn’t sound too sure, but neither is Patrick. Together, they’re oblivious fools who don’t know anything about anything. “But we’re going with the flow, just like we said.”

“But what if the flow is going too fast?” Patrick almost whispers, letting worries settle in his chest. He speaks softly. “I know I sound crazy. I’m just– you’re too good to be true.”

“I’m a fucking mess,” Pete shakes his head. “You’re the one that’s too good for me.”

“I’m not doing this,” Patrick rolls his eyes a little. “We’re not going back and forth about this. Just take my compliment, please?”

“Fine,” Pete says, but with an easy smile on his face, one that widens when Patrick kisses him again. “I’m the biggest catch in the world. Happy?”

“Enthralled,” Patrick says, hoping the humor in his voice is enough, since he’s straight-faced. “I’m gonna go find Ashley and tell her that we’re down. We’ll be outside, probably.”

“Cool,” Pete nods, and then he goes back to throwing stray plastic cups into the garbage once Patrick unwraps himself from Pete’s body and goes back out to find everyone.  
  
When Patrick leaves, what he doesn’t prepare for, is to find Ashley and Tyler arguing in the blue light of the neon signs in front of the restaurant. Patrick, he knows when arguments and fights are going to get nasty. There’s always a way that someone stands, the way that their hands move… and he can tell that Ashley’s about two seconds away from punching Tyler in the face.

Confrontation makes him sick, but he goes outside anyway, to see if he can stop it. No one notices him coming outside besides Hayley, who’s standing on the side with her arms crossed. She gives him a wince at best and she mouths ‘ _Josh’_.

“Oh, fuck you,” Ashley spits at Tyler, getting all up in his face. “And fuck you too, Sam. Grow the fuck up.”

“Fuck you too!” Tyler says back, and Patrick almost wants to clasp his hand over his forehead since their comebacks are seriously lacking. “Sorry I don’t want to spend my fucking time doing something I really couldn’t give a shit about with people I don’t really give a shit about.”

“Tyler,” Sameer winces, “don’t–”

“No, go jerk each other off or whatever you guys do,” Ashley pushes Tyler away from her roughly. “If this is about Josh, then you’re pathetic. You don’t give a shit about Josh? _You_? Fuck, instead of making Sameer your therapist, go and get some actual help since you’re _clearly_ delusional. Some kind of friend you are.”

“What’s wrong with being tired, I–” Tyler tries to say, before Ashley laughs at him. “You aren’t tired, stop lying. This thing with Josh isn’t cute anymore. It’s fucking annoying. Fix yourself and fix your relationship and stop making everything about you! Josh actually fucking needs you right now, and the only person you can bring yourself to care about is you!”

“I’m not making everything about me!” Tyler yells, and Patrick can feel the pain in his voice, something that Ashley probably isn't since the anger is masking it. Sameer, he’s watching Tyler carefully. “I’m not a selfish person. I’m not, I’m not selfish, I’m– you know what, fuck this, I don’t need to explain myself to _you_. Sam, let’s go.”

Sameer gives everyone an apologetic glance, but he follows Tyler all the same.

“GODDAMMIT,” Ashley yells to their backs, loud enough for Sameer and Tyler to hear, before she turns around to where Hayley and Patrick are watching her. She composes herself by taking a deep breath, in and out. “I fucking hate that shit.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” Hayley laughs nervously, and Ashley melts a little underneath Hayley’s touch when she rests a reassuring and loving hand on her shoulder. “They’re being stupid, I’ll admit that, but I think that… I don’t know. He’s just fucked up a little right now.”

“We’re all fucked up a little right now, Tyler doesn’t get a pass just because it’s in his nature to be a dramatic bitch,” Ashley says, shaking her head. “And I get being tired, and I’m not saying that you have to, whatever, hang out with us every single second you get, but to not come just because Josh is gonna be there is fucking stupid. And I can’t believe Sam either.”

“It’s Sam,” Hayley says, pulling Ashley in for a hug. Hayley and Ashley truly are poster kids for the soulmates thing– Patrick’s never seen soulmate magic work in the way that it works for Hayley and Ashley. It’s like he can see the exhaustion and the anger being drained from Ashley’s body, just from Hayley hugging her and pressing soft kisses to her cheek. “You know that those two are attached at the hip. If Tyler’s going to act out, I’d rather Sam be with him when he crashes.”

“It’s just aggravating,” Ashley says. “And I know Josh is going to feel shitty when Tyler and Sam aren’t there, and Josh doesn’t _deserve_ to feel shitty, and– I need a drink. Fuck.”

“Soon,” Hayley promises, kissing the back of Ashley’s hand, which is intertwined with her own. “And then later on, you can drink some of _my_ –”

“Guys,” Patrick whines. “I know I’m being quiet, but I’m _right here_. Also, that doesn't make any sense.”

And when Ashley genuinely laughs, Patrick feels just a smidge better. Because right now, he mostly feels like shit. He knows that the tension has been building for the better part of a week now, and someone was bound to snap, but it was mostly his fault, wasn’t it, and–

“Sorry, that…” He begins to say, before he frowns deeply. “I don’t know. I feel like it’s my fault.”

"Shut up, Patrick,” Ashley says in a friendly _‘you’re being a little ridiculous but I know it’s not your fault’_ kind of voice. “It wasn’t your fault, how would it be your fault? Anyway, it wasn’t about the party, it was more like the meaning behind it. Like, I realize it sounds dumb to argue about a party for fuckin’… for you and Pete banging, but it’s _why_ he doesn’t wanna come. You don’t want to hang out because you’re stupid and can’t think about other people for 0.23 seconds? _That’s_ when I have a problem. Also, I’m done talking about this or else I’m gonna call Tyler and yell at him some more.”

“Yeah, let’s not do that,” Hayley says. “Everything is gonna cool off in like a week, Trix. This happens way more frequently than you’d think. One time, I literally almost threw Josh off my balcony because he was pissing me off.”

“Don’t remind me, you know how I love to hold grudges,” Ashley grumbles, and Hayley sighs. “We can’t keep holding onto grudges.”

“Oh okay,” Patrick says, and he shoves his hands in his pocket. “I just hate confrontation like that, I don’t know. I just freeze up.”

“I’m just kind of a bitch,” Ashley says, and Hayley gasps, turning to look at her. “Shut up, take that back. You’re not a bitch.”

“I mean, I kind of am. But it’s okay, because Tyler’s kind of a bitch too, so our energies just…” She waves her hand around, trying to conjure the right word, but she just leaves it at that. “We’ve fought over worse shit for longer, you don’t have to worry about anything. And if you still think it’s your fault, just remember that… one time, Sam and I got into an argument about a recipe and that lasted two weeks, and we both ended up being wrong. We all fight over things that can be easily solved.”

“Yeah,” Patrick swallows hard. “I guess I just associate all fighting with bad feelings.”

“There’s a difference between the occasional arguments and like… full blown abuse,” Hayley says, and Ashley nods. “Yeah. There’s always a line with all of us and everyone knows not to cross it.”

“Wish that was my experience with… basically everyone in my life,” Patrick says, feeling a familiar itch on his covered mark. “Okay, this is depressing. I’ll save that for when we’re drunk.”

“You can say that again,” Hayley agrees, scratching the back of her neck impatiently. “Jesus Christ, where the fuck is Pete?”

“He’s still probably–” Patrick begins to say, but then the lights inside are flipped off, and Pete’s suddenly outside and locking the place up. Hayley brings her hands together like she’s thanking God, and Ashley sighs with relief. “Finally! MJ and Josh are bringing the everything, now _let’s go_.”

Pete holds his hand out wordlessly, and Patrick takes it. They smile at each other before they return their attention to Ashley and Hayley’s conversation, and just like that, just like the lights inside of the restaurant getting turned off by the flip of a switch, Patrick feels semi-okay again.

* * *

Pete knew his crash was inevitable. He just didn’t think it was going to happen at Ashley and Hayley’s place, although he should have known, given his luck. It’s not the deep depression, kinda. It’s just a huge wave of exhaustion and crankiness. He just wants to go the fuck home and sleep, even though things doesn’t really work out that way, it mostly becomes twisting and turning in his bed and angrily writing his frustrations out and wanting Patrick or wanting Mikey and then hating himself for not wanting Mikey, but then hating himself for not wanting Patrick, and then that turns into the baby thing, because of course it would, and basically, long story short, Pete just wants to go home and sulk.

“Are you okay?” Patrick asks, turning to Pete in middle of a scene in the movie. Pete hasn’t been paying attention, because no one else really has. Patrick, Ashley, Hayley and Josh are talking about their own drama, and then MJ’s knocked out on the other couch. “You’re being quiet.”

“I don’t really have anything to say,” Pete replies back, and he knows he looks a little out of it, judging from the way that he can barely keep his eyes open. “I’m just kinda tired, is all.”

“Do you want a drink?” Patrick asks, softly, another sharp reminder that he’s too good for Pete. Treats him sweet and Pete’s not sweet. “Or a slice of cake? I feel bad, I kinda dragged you here.”

“It’s _our_ party,” Pete shakes his head, “You didn’t do anything. And I’m fine, I’ll just wait it out. Did you drink anything hard?”

Patrick shakes his head as well. “Wow, you really _are_ tired… no, I didn’t want. Not in a good mood, so I’ll just get riled up.”

“Bad mood?” Pete asks, and Patrick shrugs. “It comes and goes.”

“Yeah,” Pete says. He understands that. The little rain cloud in his head. Except it’s always hovering, so when he’s in the presence of the sun, he’s still stuck feeling cold. “God, fuck, I feel like a piece of shit, I don’t even know what’s happening in this movie. And it’s our party.”

“What it _was_ was an excuse to get drunk,” Patrick says, and he and Pete both turn to look at Ashley, Josh, and Hayley all in the kitchen, mixing more drinks. “Let’s be real.”

“Still! They made us blow candles,” Pete says, and Patrick rolls his eyes playfully. They really did make the two of them blow candles– Hayley put two in the center of a cupcake that she brought back from work. It was stupid and funny and MJ took pictures and Ashley made a joke about that not being the only thing being blown and then Pete and Patrick both looked away from each other sheepishly. “Yeah, they did. So stupid. But it makes me feel… like, good. Maybe because it’s so far removed from what I used to know that even though it’s fucking ridiculous, it’s still something that would never happened in my old life.”

Pete really doesn’t have the energy to conjure up a whole response to that, even though there’s paragraphs filling up in his mind. He just simply leans his head on Patrick’s shoulder and slumps over on him. “You deserve everything good and dumb in the world. Good dumb, though.”

“Are you always like this when you’re sleepy?” Patrick asks, and Pete hums. “More cranky usually. It’s like… osmosis. All of your goodness is seeping through my skin and making me… better. Fuck, I’m tired.”

“Do you want to sleep?” Patrick asks and when Pete shakes his head, Patrick shifts a little, so that Pete’s head isn’t resting upon his shoulder. “Are you sure? Here, just– rest your head in my lap and lie down. When the movie’s done, we’ll wake you and MJ up.”

“…okay,” Pete says, after a moment of hesitation and then he shifts a little, and does exactly what Patrick said, until his head in his Patrick’s lap, and Patrick’s fingers are gently carding through his hair. He’s kinda curled into himself and he doesn’t know what to do with his arms, but Patrick’s so warm underneath him, and Patrick’s massaging his scalp gently, and Patrick’s just so goddamn perfect and feels so safe that Pete just closes his eyes and lets the wave of tiredness take him wherever it wants him to go.

He dreams of yellow. Patrick’s blond hair and there are sunflowers somewhere in that mix, and it’s hot and there’s a song in the background that he can’t hear but he knows it, and Mikey’s yellow helmet is there, splattered in red blood, sitting in the meadow of flowers. There’s Patrick and he’s smiling and Pete’s smiling and everything feels so happy and warm and there are flowers everywhere, but then the blood dripping from Mikey’s helmet falls onto the flowers. And onto Pete’s hands as he draws a moan out of Patrick. And then suddenly, Patrick’s eyes fill with fear and the song cuts out abruptly.

He wakes up with a sharp inhale. MJ pauses from the middle of her turn to talk in the conversation with the four other people in the room, to look at him, and the familiar long caramel colored hair makes him feel a little better because he knows it almost as well as he knows the back of his hand. “Pete? Are you okay?”

The hand in his hair stills for a moment of two. Pete wishes that Patrick would just crush his skull right then and there and make things easier for everyone.

“Wet dream about Patrick?” Ashley drunkenly giggles, and Hayley joins in on it, almost falling over herself. “Yooooo, and it’s the party for their consumption!”

“ _Consummation_ ,” Josh corrects her, and Hayley nods. “Constitution!”

“Of sorts,” Pete says, all groggily. He’s awake and he knows it, but there’s still that fear that if he looks down, the floor gonna be coated in red. That if he looks at Patrick, Patrick’s going to look at him like he’s a monster, just like if he were Shane. So he keeps looking at MJ. “Movie’s done?”

“Yeah,” Ashley says. “Twas boring.”

“You find every straight movie boring,” Josh says, and Ashley shakes her head. “I like Mulan.”

“Shang’s bisexual, doesn’t count,” Hayley points out, and Ashley tries to think of another straight movie she likes before she scrunches her nose. “Too much thinking.”

“Baby Driver was the fucking shit. Baby was straight, and so were Buddy and Darling,” Josh says, and Ashley claps her hands together. “Allegedly straight, but _Y_ _ES_. That Baby drove so fast.”

“Okay but that title was so misleading. I thought it was an actual baby driver,” Hayley says, before she laughs again. “Like a, like a… like a _baby_. An _actual_ baby. Baby was a fucking adult, he’s like… big.”

“You just described an adult as ‘big’, Jesus Christ,” Pete hears Patrick laughs above him. “Ansel Elgort's pretty tall, isn’t he?”

“Way taller than me,” Ashley frowns. “But I think if I were tall, I would possess too much energy and the universe would explode.”

“You would have to crouch down to kiss me,” Hayley frowns as well.

“Well, with my new energy, I would just make you tall too,” Ashley replies, like it’s obvious.

“ _Okay_ , I think I’m done for tonight now that Pete’s awake. Thanks for the cupcakes and the _insightful_ talk,” MJ interrupts, standing up and reaching for her bag. “Next time, we need to plan this better so we all can sleepover and I can actually drink and understand this conversation on the level that you guys are on.”

“Pete didn’t drink,” Ashley points out, and MJ sighs. “Pete’s barely alive right now, he can’t drive home.”

It’s true– Pete’s still not sure what’s real or what’s not. He’s seeing everything and hearing everything through like... blood-tinted sunflower colored glasses. Like rose-colored glasses but not, because those provide a nice kind of filter on everything shitty. And the only thing Pete can think about how much of a horrible person he is.

“Already?” Hayley pouts, and Josh pulls himself off the floor. “JJ, make sure to chew Tyler out when you get home.”

“I’ll just sit in my room and cry,” Josh replies, rather candidly, and he shoves his feet into his shoes, completely ignoring the shoelaces. “Thanks for the drinks n’ the cake.”

“You coming, Pete?” MJ asks, phrased a little like a joke even though the plan was always for Pete to ride home with MJ and Josh, but Pete rolls his head in Patrick’s lap a little. “Trick, can I stay with you tonight? I wanna be next to someone.”

He feels Patrick’s sharp inhale, and he sees the sadness in MJ’s eyes.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course,” Patrick says, shifting a little so that Pete’s head is no longer in his lap, and he’s moving to help Pete sit-up. “Always.”

“Y’all cute as fuck,” Ashley says in regards to Pete and Patrick, and MJ laughs a little. “Good night Ash, you too Hayley. Please don’t touch the stove or anything that’s a fire hazard.”

“We’re probably gonna attempt to fuck and then fall asleep before I get my shirt off,” Hayley says, swaying a little when she gets up. And when she leans down to hug Pete, Pete smiles a little. “Congrats Pete. You too,Trick.”

“Thanks. I’ll kill you guys if you make a party like this again, though” Patrick jokes, and Pete wakes up fully after that, since there’s a lot of getting up and walking around to find his shoes and everything. When Patrick looks at Pete, the only expression on his face resembles a sleepy kind of happiness and it makes Pete relieved. That maybe it was just his head fucking with him. His hands aren’t covered with blood when he rests them on Patrick’s face, so he could kiss him. There aren’t any red handprints on Patrick’s face.

“Bad dream?” Patrick asks, once the both of them get out of the elevator and stand in front of Patrick’s apartment while the he searches for his keys.

“Of course,” Pete says, and he attempts some humor, but Patrick just makes a sad pouty face and kisses him again, telling him that everything is going to be alright, and then Pete feels like shit again. Hot and cold and feeling good and feeling bad and wanting to love Patrick and wanting to quit him. He can never win.

“What do you do for them?” Patrick asks, once they’re in his room, taking off their clothes. It’s to change into something more comfortable, but Pete wants to ‘change into something more comfortable’ and just get naked and forget about everything.

“Nothing,” Pete says. “Nothing stops them.”

“Sometimes, I think happy thoughts before I sleep,” Patrick says, and he lets Pete crowd into his space. He lets Pete push him gently against his bed. Patrick, he stares up at Pete with big eyes and through his glasses and Pete _knows_ that Patrick has put so much goddamn trust in him but he doesn’t understand why.

“All of my thoughts are bad,” Pete says. “Do you want to fuck?”

Patrick nods, and he pulls Pete in for a kiss, one hand framing his hand, and one hand on his shoulder, so Pete’s pressed flush against him. They’re only in their socks and underwear, and Pete moves his hand underneath Patrick’s boxers and fists his cock loosely. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“I’ve never,” Patrick sighs softly, his back arched off his bed and into Pete’s body. “But I want to. Do _you_ want me to?”

“So badly,” Pete says, moving so that he’s kissing Patrick’s neck and where he’s already bruised him. He’s a monster, and Patrick’s got the bruises to prove. “I want to ride you. I want to make you feel good, you don’t have to do anything.”

“But practice makes perfect,” Patrick whines, and Pete’s already slipping into a bad space in his head, full of violence and making himself hurt, but that pulls him out for a moment. He laughs, genuinely laughs, and he says, “We have a lot of time to practice. I just—god, I want you so fucking bad. Want to fuck myself raw on your cock.”

“ _Pete_ ,” Patrick gasps, squeezing his eyes shut. “Jesus _fuck_.”

“You deserve everything,” Pete says, “I want to give you everything in me.”

“Pete,” Patrick sighs again, breathy and reminiscent of the sweet taste in Pete’s mouth before he vomits. He can feel the storm coming, and Patrick’s the lightning, a flash of love in the darkness. He sees it in blue. “Turn the lights off.”  
  
The lamp is turned off and they’re in the darkness again. But then Patrick’s smiling shyly, handing Pete a bottle of lube, and the light returns. Pete’s mind is so messy and everything is so confusing, but there’s the ribbon on Patrick’s wrist and the way that Patrick’s breath hitches when Pete straddles his lap, and it’s not until Pete’s naked and his own sticky fingers are rubbing over his hole that Pete’s thrust back into reality. Tonight, it seems, is his turn to be stuck in the gooey blackness of his mind.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Patrick murmurs, rubbing his hand over Pete’s side. The ribbon brushes against his skin in the worst way. “It’s quiet. I guess I’m used to you and your loud mouth.”

“What, from all _two_ times we’ve fucked?” Pete asks sharply, and he feels Patrick tense up underneath him. “Sorry, I’m just– whatever. Tell me to use a finger.”

“Pete, look at me,” Patrick asks, just shy from pleading, and when Pete does, he feels like he’s going to crumble underneath the waves in Patrick’s eyes, underneath all the blue. “What’s wrong? We can stop, this feels so… forced. I don’t like force.”

“Everything is wrong,” Pete says, ever the dramatic. He can’t help it. “Everything in my fucking head. You’re the only thing that feels right to me, and sometimes, not even that feels safe.”

Patrick’s quiet for a moment.

“Okay.”

“I feel this... _Guilt._ So strong with you, and–”

“So then why are we even–”

“And it scares me, because then I think that it might be because you’re the _one_.”

“...I thought we were going with the flow.”

“Did you really believe that?”

“Well... no.”

“So?” Pete sighs, and then he wipes his fingers on Patrick’s comforter because this position is just getting weird. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know what I want. I feel bad inside, you know? But you make me feel… good? I know I sound fucking moronic right now, but you make everything feel better. But that makes me feel bad because you’re not– You’re not supposed to make me feel like that. And that makes me feel bad, but then you make me feel good again, and it’s just a circle of shittiness.”

“I understand,” Patrick says, and Pete wants to cry out in frustration because he’s sure Patrick _doesn’t._ “Or, I’m trying to. So why are you… why do want to fuck me if you don’t feel good?”

“Because I can forget,” Pete says. “Because the only thing I’ll be focusing on is not coming and feeling the… the stretch of–”

Patrick winces. “Okay, stop. I get it now.”

Pete attempts a smile. “I don’t understand how you don’t like dirty talk.”

“I do, it just makes me come too fast.”

And there’s a stillness for a moment, before they both burst into laughter. Even in their awkward position, both naked and hard and in their socks, with Pete still straddling Patrick’s lap. The cool air from the open window hits Pete’s back, and he can make out Patrick’s glasses and his eyes and the dips from acne scars on Patrick’s face through the moonlight, and Patrick’s just about the most beautiful creature in the world.

“See?” Patrick says, soft and gentle in the way that he is. “I want you to forget about your sadness, but like this. With laughing and the smiles and the stupid jokes.”

“I wish,” Pete says, and then he dips down to press a kiss to Patrick’s forehead. “Gotta admit, never had a moment like this while almost having my fingers in my ass.”

“Shut the hell up,” Patrick says, and Pete can hear the blush in it. “Are we back on?”

“Do you wanna be back on?” Pete asks, and then he reaches for the lube again. “You might have to wipe this down tomorrow. I’m getting my dirty fingers all over it.”

“I don’t fucking give a shit,” Patrick says, but then he takes it back from Pete’s hands. “Can I… _do it?_ You tell me if I’m making it feel good or not. I wanna make you feel good _my_ way and not in your… depressing way.”

“You wanna finger me?” Pete asks, and he’s still teasing a little, but _God._ He’s been thinking about Patrick’s fingers for the longest time. “Let me get on my back, then." 

They shift a little, Pete sort of flops down and rolls around until he feels comfy, and Patrick settles between Pete’s legs and uncaps the bottle. “Is there such a thing as an expiration date for this shit?” Patrick asks. He runs his free hand, the one with the ribbon attached to his wrist, up Pete’s thighs and squeezes over Pete’s hip bone while the other one moves under his balls, and Pete has to gnash his teeth together to keep from making noise.

“I mean… if it burns?” Pete says through his teeth, and then he gasps when Patrick’s fingers tease at his rim and he kicks his sock-clad foot up so that it’s resting on Patrick’s side. “ _God_ , like that!”

“It burns?!” Patrick sounds worried and Pete squeezes his eyes shut. “ _No_ , idiot. It feels goo– _oh my God,_ okay, we’re doing this.”

He’s talking about the two fingers inside of him.

“I just realized we’re still wearing our socks,” Patrick says conversationally, and his fingers aren’t going anywhere great, but Pete still feels so full, and it’s still been fucking forever since he got fucked, so he’s a little hazy eyed and scatter brained right now. “This is kinda weird.”

“I don’t care,” Pete says, and he attempts to grind down on Patrick’s fingers a little. He curls his toes in his socks to keep that grip on Patrick’s side, but his foot falls onto the sheets all the same. “I like wearing socks.”

“This is so gross,” Patrick says, but he doesn’t make any effort to take off his own socks or Pete’s, so Pete considers this a win. He’s still moving his fingers the wrong way, so Pete brings a hand down and tries to fix it. It’s a lot of acrobatics here. Patrick almost gets kneed in the face for it, but eventually, with Pete’s aid, Patrick gets it. His two fingers press against Pete’s prostate, and Pete almost gags with the rush of _everything_. He gasps and his ankle digs into Patrick’s back and his hips buck up wildly.

“Ricky,” Pete moans, like, _for real_ this time. “Another one, hurry up.”

It’s a tight fit, but eventually, Pete’s grasping at Patrick’s pillows for purchase and whining for more, and he’s nothing like the Know-It-All from last night (it still doesn’t feel like that, it feels like they’ve been doing this thing since forever). He’s mostly just really needy. It’s an extremely vulnerable position that he’s in, which is what he needed anyway– he can already feel himself slipping into familiar territory, a calmness. He’d call it subspace if he were like… even remotely into that kind of stuff.

“Pete, come on, look at me,” Patrick says, and Pete forces his eyes to focus on Patrick, who’s kneeling between Pete’s legs, who’s still wearing his socks because Pete wanted them to, who’s wearing his nerdy glasses, who’s so perfect for Pete that it couldn’t ever really work. “You gotta– fuck, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here.”

“Just… put it in me,” Pete slurs out, shifting around the fingers inside of him. “I ’on’ fuckin’ know. I’m gonna come in twelve seconds anyway, so go wild.”

“‘ _Go wild’_ and ‘ _I’m about to put my dick inside of you’_ seems like a horrible combination,” Patrick says back, “I’m– okay. Let me get a condom.”

“Yeah, please,” Pete says, and then he whines when Patrick pulls his fingers out.

Patrick, he laughs and leans in close to brush his nose against Pete’s, to kiss his cheek, as he searches in his drawer for a condom without looking. “Patience is a virtue, Pete.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Pete murmurs under his breath, and he closes his eyes when he feels Patrick shift, unsatisfied with his lack of findings.

“ _Motherfucker_ ,” Patrick says, rolling off the bed and turning the lamp on. Pete, he turns to look at Patrick, soft edges and the fading bruises over his chest, and he absentmindedly reaches out to touch one. It’s not a secret that Pete’s clingy and needy, but it’s coming out full-force now. Not that he can really be blamed– he’s waiting as patiently as he can but he feels like he’s gonna fucking explode if Patrick doesn’t get his dick in him, like, fourteen seconds ago. He notices that Patrick’s still wearing the ribbon on his wrist, so he tugs at it until it falls free onto the floor.

“Slight problem.” Patrick says.

“Don’t say it.” Pete begs.

“No condom.”

“I’m gonna die.”

Patrick looks over to Pete, who’s still reaching out for him, and he sighs. “I’m sorry, I just– I thought I had. I’m a fucking moron.”

“Kinda,” Pete says, and he smiles a little despite himself, even though he’s sure he looks a little crazy in the light, with the sweat in his brow and the drool from pressing his head into Patrick’s pillow and gasping. “It’s fine. I’m not _actually_ gonna die. You look cute with your glasses still on. I don’t know what you’re always going on about, you’re so hot like this.”

“Like what?” Patrick asks, and he looks down at himself. “Like–”

“Don’t finish your sentence because I know it’s gonna be some bullshit,” Pete says. “Just– god, come and finger me some more. I can suck you off again.”

“You don’t have to do anything like that,” Patrick looks away, embarrassed. “I feel like an idiot.”

“Are you entirely opposed to…” Pete doesn’t finish his sentence because he doesn’t wanna be shot down. But he watches the way that Patrick has to compose himself, the darkness in Patrick’s eyes as he looks over Pete’s body. And Pete knows the way he looks– his knees up so that he’s exposed, and he knows that his hair is a mess, he knows that he’s still incredibly hard, he knows that he looks extremely desperate.

“I’m not,” Patrick swallows hard. “I’m not opposed. I trust you so much, Pete.”

“I trust you, too,” Pete says, and then he stretches his arms out so that Patrick’s back in his arms, back on top of him. “I want you to and I swear it’s not… it’s not the weird cloud in my head talking.”

Patrick’s hands shake as he lubes himself up, without the condom on. Pete’s mouth waters a little. The lamp is still on, so Patrick’s bathed in warm light, his hair is gold, and there’s a ring of light reflecting in his bulky glasses, and he’s so _heavenly_ that it hurts. Pete’s shifting, moving his feet so that one is wrapped around Patrick’s waist, and he’s shifting his hips up, moving closer. They’re kissing and Patrick’s glasses are bumping Pete in the face, but in a moment it doesn’t matter, because when Patrick slides in all the way, Pete’s falling onto his back and digging his fingernails so deep into Patrick’s shoulders that there are going to be marks. The monster imagery juts into his mind so fast, he can hardly think.

“On second thought, I think the socks are actually helping me right now,” Patrick says, his voice strained. “Your feet smell gross and it’s keeping me from coming.”

“ _Fuck me,”_ Pete replies. He closes his eyes and keeps himself from howling when Patrick begins moving by biting the inside of his cheek, even when he tastes metallic iron. Blood surrounds him wherever he goes, this is who he is. Evil and mean and violent. He begs Patrick to go harder after a few short minutes of sweet and shallow thrusting, to move faster, and he shouts when Patrick does. He would feel bad for Andy, since he’s probably in the other room trying to sleep, but he can’t even bring himself to remember his _name_ , let alone feel sorry for him.

“Pete,” Patrick groans, throwing his head back, “I’m sorry, this is so early, I’m gonna–”

“Inside of me,” Pete moans. He’s so overstimulated, caught between Patrick’s hand on his cock and Patrick’s dick in his ass and the images in his head and everything is happening so fast yet so slow, and Patrick said it was early, but right now, it’s hard to think about a time where Pete wasn’t on his back on Patrick’s bed. He opens his eyes, and just the picture of Patrick watching him is enough for Pete to come with a silent cry. With his dirty fingers, he pulls Patrick in for a kiss, and he moans into it when he feels Patrick’s hips still and feels Patrick come too. No begging this time, just silence. The room has gotten so quiet but everything in Pete’s head is screeching, kinda like tires on asphalt, cars stopping to look at the wreckage. Mikey’s bruised body lying in the road fills his mind.

Patrick’s shaking when he looks back at Pete, searching for reassurance that he did okay, and Pete nods.

“Pull out?” Patrick asks, and Pete nods again. The feeling is gross, but the sight of blood on Patrick’s shoulders is worse.

“I made you bleed,” Pete says, panic rising rapidly in his chest. Any sweet contentment for what they just did, any soft afterglow in the golden light, has been thoroughly erased.  “Oh my God, Patrick.”

“Huh?” Patrick asks, and then he looks down. “Oh. Shit.”

“Patrick,” Pete says again, and he feels the tears in his eyes more than he feels the come sliding out of his body, staining Patrick’s sheets and his thighs. “ _Patrick_.”

He’s gasping, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean it, I’m so sorry.”

Patrick, who’s wiping the red away with his tee-shirt, looks up when he hears Pete’s voice, and he’s quick to cup Pete’s face, to make him look at him. “Pete, babe, it’s okay, I barely felt it. It stings a little, but– I mean, it was in the moment, it’s fine, you don’t– what’s wrong, oh my G–”

“I don’t know,” Pete cries, cries for real. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Everything happens so fast that Pete’s head spins. It’s like, it’s like they were fucking, and now he’s sorta crying, or maybe he’s dry heaving, or maybe everything is just in his head and he’s not sure how much time was caught between, but there’s just that image of blood on Patrick and he caused it, and it all moves at a mile a minute, where one minute, Patrick’s there, the other he’s not, and then he’s back and he’s handing Pete some water, and he’s crawling into bed next to Pete, still naked and still in those fucking socks, and he’s pulling Pete into his chest and speaking to him softly and kissing his hair. But that raincloud in Pete’s mind doesn’t budge in the way that it was supposed to during the afterglow, because there was none, there was just Pete’s panic. And that panic just takes over everything in Pete’s body and makes him so weak that he shuts down in Patrick’s arms and knocks the fuck out. 

* * *

Long story short, Pete has another nightmare. It’s the same as always but it still leaves him breathless and unsure of where he is and what’s happening and what’s real. The room is dark when he’s shaken awake, torn violently from the scene in his head.

“Mikey?” Pete asks, his voice shaky and nearly hysteric when he feels the bed shift next to him. He feels so fucking uncomfortable and he can feel it everywhere in his body, because it’s an unfamiliar room and he knows he’s naked but he doesn’t remember why because the only thing in his head is everything he was pulled away from. The poetry journal coated in blood and Mikey’s eyes and the way that his arm was bent so unnaturally and Pete _knew_ it hurt and he couldn’t do a thing about it besides sit there and–

“ _Mikey_ , is that–”

“I-It’s Patrick,” The voice next to him whispers, words laced with panic, and in an instant the room returns to that gold hue. When Pete frantically turns to looks for familiarity, something to ground him, it’s Patrick, eyes wide with his glasses on all lopsided. “Pete, y-you were, you were having a nightmare, and I didn’t know what to do but you were–”

“Fuck, sorry,” Pete says, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head, and he’s still struggling to breathe, but _God_ , it wasn’t supposed to happen in front of Patrick. He called Patrick _‘Mikey’_ , and that’s like… RULE NUMBER ONE. **_DON’T CALL YOUR… YOUR FRIEND, THAT YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH AND HAVE MAJOR FEELINGS FOR AND KNOW THAT THOSE FEELINGS ARE RECIPROCATED, THE NAME OF YOUR DEAD SOULMATE_** _._

“I, um…” Pete tries to say again, but his vision is spotty and _God_ , he feels like shit, he wants to be anywhere but here. Dead in the ground sounds preferable. He’s always so goddamn melodramatic at night, but he’s supposed to be like that alone, and he’s not supposed to be in hysterics and he’s not supposed to be woken up from nightmares by _Patrick_. Shame coats his body like sweat (or maybe that really is just the sweat) and he wants to claw his skin off to get rid of it.

“Shhhh,” Patrick shushes him, and Pete wasn’t aware that he was babbling apologizes and verbalizing all of that sweet self-hatred until he shuts his mouth and listens to Patrick.

His hands are being held in Patrick’s, sweaty palms pressed to sweaty palms, and the two of them sit in that silence for a few moments. Even though Pete’s tears sting at his eyes and he can feel them drip into the spaces between their intertwined fingers. He knows Patrick is using that technique that Pete says always helps him, but it’s not working now. Because talking helps when everything is being bottled up and the only release is through the tears, and he knows his face is blotchy and he knows his nose is gonna run and he knows that he’s going to be a wreck and the whole fucking point of, of, of STARTING OVER, maybe, was to not be like that, to try and be better. Or no, he just... Doesn’t want Patrick to see him like this.

There’s a line, there’s his poetry that he shares with the whole of Chicago, and his sadness that borders aesthetic, and he’s cried in front of Patrick before, but it’s been the kind of crying that’s strangely beautiful, the side of his hand pressed underneath his eyes and the shaky smile and the red nose and _not this_. The snot down his face and the inability to fucking speak because he can’t, because he’s gonna be gasping and hiccupping his way through it, not the kind of crying where his body is shaking with it. The kind of crying that has Patrick dazed, face frozen with shock and horror because he’s watching disaster unfold in front of him.

Patrick’s _stunned_. He lets go of Pete’s hands. Pete buries his face in them.

And he knows Patrick is watching him, but it’s okay. He cries until he can’t anymore, and then he falls back onto Patrick’s pillows. Patrick wipes something over his face so that everything feels a lot less wet and a lot clammier. Then, he lies down on his side next to Pete and looks him in the eye and presses his cold hands against Pete’s hot face, frowning gently when Pete leans into his touch and closes his eyes even though they’re swollen as all hell. “There’s so much more I feel like I should do,” Patrick says. “God, _Pete_.”

“Kill me in my sleep,” Pete laughs a little, all sniffly, as he brings his hand up to keep Patrick’s pressed against his cheek, since the coolness feels so good.

“That’s really not that funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You _are_.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Pete sniffles, and his smile disappears. “Everything is changing so fast. I feel like I can’t keep up. And change is good, y’know, I _want_ to change, I _want_ to be happy again… or _close_ to happy again, but I’m so buried in the past and it keeps haunting me.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Patrick asks quietly, and he rubs his thumb over Pete’s cheek. He looks so fucking sincere that Pete wants to cry _again_.

Pete sighs. “I… don’t know. What time is it?”

Patrick fixes his glasses a bit and squints at the clock on his bedside table. “Uh… 4:34? We can go outside if you want, the sun is going to rise soon. Fresh air is, like… good.”

“Yeah,” Pete smiles, blinking away the tears. “In such exquisite terms and everything.”

“You can’t insult my lack of adequate vocabulary at almost 5 in the morning, Pete, that’s fucked up.”

“I know, I’m just like… latching onto stupid things so I don’t have to think about the bigger picture.”

Patrick sighs. “Do you want tea? Tyler says I made good tea. I have Blueberry, Raspberry, Ginseng, Sleepytime, Green Tea, Green Tea with Lemon, Green Tea with Lemon and Honey, Liver Disaster, Ginger with Honey, Ginger Without Honey, Vanilla Almond, White Truffle Coconut, Chamomile, Blueberry Chamomile, Decaf Vanilla Walnut, Constant Comment, and Earl Grey."

“I’ll have the Green Tea with Lemon and Honey, Ramona Flowers,” Pete smiles softly, and Patrick wipes a stray tear with his thumb before he brushes the wetness off on the comforter. Patrick, he gets out of bed and turns the light off so that Pete doesn’t watch him put on a fresh pair of boxers, some sweatpants, and a hoodie. And then he’s gone. Pete sits in silence for the most part, reaching down for his phone and scrolling half-heartedly through the ‘eaHOEtato’ groupchat that Tyler started so that he would always know when he was supposed to come into work (it never really worked, and they used the groupchat to mostly talk shit about customers and to kiss up to Pete when they wanted off), and he listens to the sounds of Patrick getting their drinks. The kettle whistling, the soft humming, the ring when the spoon repeatedly hits the side of their mugs.

Patrick comes back into the room and frowns. “You didn’t put on any clothes?”

Pete looks down. “Oh. I’ll just… wear your comforter. I have my socks still on, that counts right?”

“Definitely not, but sure… I have to throw that into the wash anyway. I’ll hold your drink, let’s go.”

The ratty couch on the balcony looks a little worse for wear, especially since it’s a little damp due to the rain from the past couple of days, but Pete, who’s wrapped up like he’s a burrito, he just scoots over on the couch so that Patrick can rest his feet on the mass where Pete’s thighs are. He pulls his knees up and rests his arms across them, and he looks at Pete with a calm expression on his face, like he’s ready to brave Pete’s storm. “So… what’s up?”

Pete’s quiet for a moment. One hand moves out of the cream colored sheets so he can drink some of the tea that Patrick handed him and he winces at how hot it is. “So… Mikey’s dead...”

“Yeah…” Patrick frowns. He pokes his toes into Pete’s thighs. “I kinda figured.”

“…and I feel like it’s my fault.” Pete finishes his sentence and then he frowns before he drinks out of the mug again. Saying that out loud should have felt good, like all of the bad would come out of his body and go with the night breeze into the sky. But those bad feelings just sit in his chest and don’t go anywhere. “Because it was an accident, but it… wasn’t.”

“It was,” Patrick stresses. “Like, I know you think–”

“It could have been avoided if I wasn’t such a goddamn moron,” Pete says, his eyes focused on the contents in his cup. “That’s why I think it was my fault. Not because I think I hit him with my… my fucking _car_ and not because I didn’t… I mean, I try to think about why it had to happen. And everything points back to me. We were having Slam Night and I forgot my journal at home and he offered to get it for me and then he died. And I had this feeling in my stomach that something was off but I didn’t say a thing and then–"

He makes this pained noise in the back of his throat and shakes his head as he starts to get choked up again. “I had to look for an answer for why it happened because it couldn’t just be _that_. I needed a reason. Maybe if I believed in a… a fuckin’ higher power, then I would think that… that everything happens for a reason, but I don’t, and that couldn’t have happened for anything good. Not for what we had planned, not for everything to be so good and then for it to be ripped away. We were… we…”

He tries to say the words ‘adopt’ but he can’t. It’s Patrick’s gaze on him and the fact that he’s never told a single person about the baby thing that keeps him silent. So... he just settles for being vague.

“We had a whole future planned. I couldn’t understand why it would get ripped to shreds in front of me when everything was going so well. Like the restaurant, and we were in the process of moving out of our shitty apartment together and moving into a stupid suburban house like the rest of the stupid happy couples, and we were happy with our jobs and coming into work was fun and everything was so bright and beautiful."

He sighs. "But I’m poison. My mind is poison and I’m, like, filled up till here with all of these fucking… like, despite Mikey being there, I still had bipolar and I don’t feel bad about that, I know Ash has it too and there’s not… my point is that I guess I was always doomed for this. This sadness? I know people can’t cure it, I know it’s just… how I’m built, but Mikey was it for me. And he made me feel like everything shitty about my life didn’t matter, because it was shitty, but it was okay, because I had my constant and now I don’t and I haven’t had him for a while but everything is changing and we’re… and I’m feeling semi-okay again, and I know it’s not going to stay, and I know I’m going to ruin you like I ruin everything around me. Mikey died because of what I did and I don’t– you don’t deserve this.”

“Deserve what?” Patrick asks, and Pete leans his head to the side a little, turning to look at Patrick in the blue of the changing sky. He’s so gorgeous, and Pete almost reaches out to touch him, to make sure he’s real.

“Deserve my rottenness.”

“And what did I tell you about telling me what I should and shouldn’t want?” Patrick asks, and Pete rolls his eyes.

“It’s not should and shouldn’t want, it’s _deserve_. Don’t leave Shane’s mess and come and settle for mine.”

“You’re different,” Patrick says, poking Pete in the thigh with his toes again. “ _You’re_ a good person and I don’t give a shit if you don’t think you are. I’m not… not _settling_ for anything, I want you. Flaws and all. You aren’t rotten to me…”

“You don’t know who I am inside,” Pete takes another sip out of his mug and he’s talking nonchalantly, as if he’s discussing the weather. “It’s always like this… Me always being stupid and dramatic and hating myself and always being miserable and that little… thing that happened inside? I’m always like that, I’m always a fucking wreck, I’m never going to be the person that you want.”

“You aren’t driving me away by saying stupid stuff about yourself,” Patrick frowns. “If that’s your M.O here.”

“I’m not trying– I’m just saying, I’m just warning you.”

“And I don’t need a warning, so shut the hell up and listen to me,” Patrick argues. “God, Pete, you’re– you’re not everything you’re saying about yourself. You’re not to blame for Mikey’s death, you aren’t poison, you aren’t bad, you aren’t– I see so much good in you. And kindness. You put on this fucking act like you’re so mean and you’re so horrible but I see right through that. I feel like the fact that you haven’t already fired Tyler just proves that in and of itself, but– you always reached out to me when I was upset, and you fucking came over and you were _there_ for me and you know what, maybe that’s not enough but–”

“Yeah, it’s–”

“Pete, will you stop talking for a second!” Patrick yells, and Pete looks down sheepishly at his mug as Patrick continues to berate him with compliments. “You’re the only person that took a chance on me when I was looking for a job, even when I told you that I had broken up with Shane. Maybe you thought it was weird, and maybe you thought it was messed up at first, but you didn’t say that I was the reason why Shane cheated and you didn’t turn me away and tell me to go back to him, and you’re the only one who didn’t look at me hiding the name on my wrist and tell me that it was disrespectful. There’s a reason why everyone loves you at work and doesn’t talk shit about you and it’s because you’re a good fucking person, _you_ gave Hayley a raise when you heard her complaining about her student loans, _you_ let Tyler stay home when he gets dysphoric and doesn’t want to leave his apartment, _you_ always offer to let people rant to you and spill all of their problems because you hate seeing people sad and guess what, that makes you a good person."

He gives Pete a sideway glance. "And I love that about you… I love that you’re so good to the people around you when it’s so easy to be vicious and mean, because I’ve seen vicious and mean and I’ve been married to it. So just… so just know that. I trust you so much and I… I love that I can trust you so much and I’m glad that we’re friends. Even if nothing ever comes out of this, I’m _never_ going to think bad of you, and–”

Whatever Patrick was going to say there, he doesn’t. He just huffs, and reaches for his mug again. “Whatever, you know? I can’t make you believe anything. But you should know that’s how I feel about you. Romantic feelings aside, because that’s not… not clouding my judgment. I’m just telling you what I know and what everyone really thinks of you.”

“And what about your…” Pete’s emotions are all over the place, to the point that they’re practically bleeding into each other, but he knows that he’s feeling warm inside. And that he’s blushing. “...y’know. Romantic feelings.”

Patrick gives him a look over his mug, and the steam from the tea clouds his glasses a little. “Are you serious.”

Pete shrugs. “If you wanna. I know we’re both thoroughly exhausted. Everything that’s coming out of my mouth probably sounds like gibberish, I get it.”

Patrick shakes his head. “No, it doesn’t. I understand where you’re coming from, okay, so don’t think that you’re just… crazy for feeling the way that you do. I’m just saying that… I don’t know dude, we should get some fucking therapy. The both of us.”

“You would wanna do that? I thought you didn’t wanna do that?” Pete asks, and he sits up a little straighter, watching as Patrick curls into himself further. “I don’t know. It doesn’t sound that bad to me anymore. Hayley recommended someone and I want to be better, genuinely. Don’t you want to be better?”

“I do… but…” Pete tries to say, but he comes up empty. He doesn’t really even know why the idea of talking to someone upsets him so much when that’s essentially what he’s doing here with Patrick.

“At first I didn’t want to, because I thought.. like, that was my way of hurting myself and I didn’t want to tell anyone about what happened to me because I was ashamed. But Hayley was talking to me about it and now I’m thinking it could be something good. It might not cure everything but it could help. Maybe. I just wanna try it out, you know? What do you think about that?”

“For you?”

“For _you_.”

It’s a loaded statement, even though it’s only two words. Pete looks out to the sun rising through the sea of buildings and he thinks about the hot tea in his hands and Patrick’s sweet gaze on him, and he thinks about all of the wonderful things in his life and how those things just aren’t enough. How he could be actually doing something about the big black sadness for once instead of doing _this_ … the incessant panic attacks and slashing words into journals.

“I’ll think about it, I guess,” Pete says, looking back to Patrick. “If I do it, will you?”

Patrick nods. “Of course. We can do kind of like a suicide pact but a lot more hopeful.”

Pete has to stifle his laughter, and he leans in closer to Patrick so that Patrick can embrace him, pull him under his arm until they’re together again. “Yeah, I feel like only you would compare therapy to suicide.”

“Shut up, you know what I meant.”

They watch the sunrise together, sipping on the rest of their tea, and it’s beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i name dropped portillo's in the beginning bc i was listening 2 a cody ko podcast and he said it was rlly good.. i never had it but i had 2 shout his bitch ass out
> 
> i also just wanna give you guys a big shoutout like literally no one came into this wanting joshler but u know how i get when it comes to side pairings,,,, like, during "500 baskets" i liked pete/patrick more than tyler/josh and now im finding myself liking tyler/josh more in this KJKJAKSJAKSJ its more likeACTUALLY i like tyler and sam's characters the most and therefore i want everything to be abt them because i AM them. sam being brown? tyler being /lowkey/ selfish but then lashing out at people who call him selfish? thats me babey!!! 
> 
> long story short, thank u ily for reading this despite the fact that im lowkey a wreck and cant manage my fic properly and the worst part is (before it gets any better we're headed for a cliff?) is that i can FEEL it losing focus and im still like AYYYYY READ MY FIC IM REALLY PROUD OF IT like proud of what, hoe! a bad story! im sorry that its dragging on but ive sort of dug myself into a hole and im too invested in my characters like STOP i wanna just talk about everyone and their backstories and who they are!!! AHHH.
> 
> last thing b4 i go: i think i have a fetish for ppl having emo talks on balconies


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u follow me on tumblr.edu then you know that ive been straight up struggling this summer JHJFHJDFSFHJ its really embarassing that this is being updated 1/4 YEAR LATER!!! 3 MONTHS!! WHAT THEBJHD!!! but anyways.. heres the update n i hope it was worth the wait..?
> 
> here's what you missed on EAPotato! the leys (ashley and hayley... ive coined that now) decided to throw a little 'happy first fuck' party for pete and patrick but what was supposed to be a fun time to get drunk basically was ruined because tyler decided he didnt wanna go because josh was going! we love a good dramatic arc between characters that arent the main ones! anyways, pete sort of has a shitty time there anyways because he's fallen into a pit of Sadness (im kin) and he gets a nightmare while taking a nap in patricks lap and BASICALLY he tries to get it out of his system by having sex w patrick but it doesnt really work since homeboy gets ANOTHER nightmare afterwards and all of his walls come crashing down because he breaks down in front of trix. SO he and patrick have a classic uma emeraldcitydowntowngirl balcony talk because we keeping up w our AO3 brand and p+p come 2 the conclusion that they should BOTH see a therapist to work thru their shit since what theyre doing together, the whole 'sleeping together and keeping our feeling bottled up' shit aint working out. and THATS what you missed on eapotato!

In the blink of an eye, two months pass.

That’s not to say that much didn’t happen, though. Summer was somewhat of ‘birthday central’ what with Pete, Sameer, and Josh’s birthdays- Pete celebrated his _‘Dirty Thirty… Two’_ with Patrick, MJ, and Steve the Dog around Lake Michigan, Hayley and Ashley almost set Sameer’s house on fire while planning his surprise birthday party, and Josh got high and had sex with  Tyler for his. Which is a good explanation in and of itself for how everyone’s summers were spent. And sprinkled between Pete and Patrick’s unofficial date nights and Ashley and Hayley’s hang-out sessions that followed the pattern of _‘someone’s napping on the couch, someone’s helping clean, and someone is catching up on ‘The Bachelorette’,_ were more than casual, passive aggressive fights between Tyler and Josh, the crying sessions on Patrick’s balcony that extended from just Pete to pretty much everyone, even Gabe and Travie, and the drives to _nowhere_ in Sameer’s convertible with the top down, late at night, with nothing to talk about and the radio on blast.

It’s the most active summer Patrick’s ever had in his whole fucking life, and even though it’s thoroughly exhausting at moments, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. Even if the group grocery shopping thing is a lot to handle. And a bit ridiculous.

Right now, though… he’s feeling at peace.

“This tastes like piss,” Pete says, scrunching up his nose as he takes a sip out of the cup of iced coffee he’s holding. “Do me a favor and remind me not to be adventurous again.”

“If your idea of being adventurous is trying to drink coffee without ten thousand gallons of sugar in it…” Patrick trails off, grinning when he catches Pete rolling his eyes. “It’s for your own good, honestly. That was gonna give you… like… Type Two diabetes.”

“Maybe, maybe I _want_ Type Two diabetes, it’d be better than—” “Here, you’re so dramatic, just take mine.”

They swap drinks.

This isn’t a date.

Except… it kind of is. It totally fits the criteria. Patrick paid for both of their drinks, they’re walking close enough that their shoulders bump into each other, they’ve got this mindless and easy banter going (if you can even call it that- it’s just bickering that’s got about as much heat as vanilla ice cream), and the only reason why they aren’t holding hands is that Pete’s holding onto Steve the Dog’s leash.

It’s a date in everything except explicit terms. The story of Pete and Patrick’s lives this summer.

“I think Type One is the one we’re talking about,” Pete says after a moment of contemplating. “That’s the one that’s—“

“No, we’re definitely talking about Type Two,” Patrick shakes his head. “Because I almost had Type One.”

Pete raises his eyebrows. “No way man.”

Love for Pete hits Patrick in flashes that remind him a lot like lightning. This is one of them. Because one second they’re just walking MJ’s dog and talking about fuckin _diabetes_ , and then the other, Patrick’s almost tripping over his feet because of the way that Pete’s voice sounds and the way that he quirks his eyebrows. That much hasn’t changed over the past two months… except for maybe the fact that those moments have become more and more frequent to the point that Patrick feels like he’s caught in this wild thunderstorm and everywhere he turns, he’s greeted with electricity in the form of warmness in his heart. Moments like catching glimpses of Pete’s tattoos on his naked back as he reached for a condom, hearing the sheer power in Pete’s voice even though he’s looking his most vulnerable on his stage. It’s the little things like Pete trusting Patrick to co-manage the store with MJ while he visited his family in Vermont, Pete bringing homemade tomato soup for him while he was sick and couldn’t stomach anything else, and like right now… the expression on Pete’s face. Raised eyebrows behind a pair of heart shaped sunglasses that he stole from Ashley.

“Woah… Earth to Trix?” Pete jokes, bringing Patrick back to the present. To him staring at Patrick behind Ashley’s sunglasses. _Right_. “Are you okay? Was that too much to ask?”

“What?” Patrick asks, quickly trying to glue back the pieces of their conversation that had been shattered by lightning in his head. “Oh. _Oh_. No, it’s—yeah, a lot was happening at that point in my life and Shane was being, y’know. _Shane._ ”

“So, not helping,” Pete offers and Patrick nods. “Yeah. Lots of ‘this is what happens when you eat your feelings’ which was a bunch of bullshit because that’s Type Two.”

“Oh cool. Now I know, I feel so educated,” Pete says, trying to lighten the mood a little. The Shane stuff still stings like nothing else. Still leaves a taste in Patrick’s mouth that not even Pete’s black iced coffee can mask. “Apparently I have high blood pressure.”

“Wait, how the fuck did we start talking about—” Patrick breaks into laughter before he can finish his sentence, and Pete laughs too. “ _You’re_ the one that brought up health shit. Anyway, I don’t doubt that, the high blood pressure thing my doctor told me.”

“I don’t either,” Patrick notes, before he intentionally bumps his shoulder with Pete’s. “You’re always so stressed. I mean, it’s fifty percent Tyler, but–”

“Seventy-five percent. Seventy-five percent at least. That whole yelling session in the breakroom almost sent me to the fucking emergency room.”

They continue to gossip as they stroll down the streets of Chicago. _Gossip_ is a word that Patrick wouldn’t use himself because that word reminds him of rich housewives sitting at a table on reality television and not two men walking a dog, but… it’s work gossip.

“It’s Ashley. She’s defensive,” Patrick says. Everyone knows she’s defensive. It’s just like how everyone knows Pete and Patrick are dating even though no one says it. “She’s allowed to be defensive. And I guess to an extent, Tyler too. But—”

“But why did they have to have that argument in the breakroom while Tyler was _still_ working and people were waiting for him and _why_ about Josh when _Josh_ was right fucking there? I don’t understand how they’re so… how they’re so annoying! This is so annoying! If I have to break up another fight between them, I’m gonna stage an intervention. I’m calling it right now.”

“Somehow I don’t doubt that?” Patrick laughs, turning to look at Pete for a moment. “This is what happens when you hire friends.”

“I didn’t hire friends, they all _became_ friends,” Pete grumbles. “And then they all decided they hate each other.”

“No one… uh, hates each other, I think,” Patrick says before he bites the inside of his cheek. “I think it’s just, like, high school drama that no one wants to confront because no one fucking liked high school, so everyone’s ignoring it. I went over to Ashley’s yesterday because… I mean, I practically live there, and she didn’t say anything to me about it, and oh my God Pete don’t look I think that’s Brendon Urie.”

Pete looks anyways, recognizing Brendon’s signature 50 foot long hair quiff off the bat, but by the time he’s grabbing Patrick’s wrist to turn the corner onto another block, Brendon’s running towards them. “Pete! I know you saw me!”

“What the _fuck_ did we do to deserve this,” Pete groans under his breath, although he stops where he is and turns back around. Patrick’s fight or flight is telling him to fucking run for the hills because the very last thing he wants to do is talk to _Brendon_ out of all people. There’s already this sick feeling pumping throughout his system that he can feel it all in his hands and his feet and Brendon hasn’t even said anything to them yet.

Patrick plasters on a smile when Brendon’s close enough to them. He still looks as perfect as ever, not that Patrick thought he wasn’t going to. That’s probably the worst thing about that whole ‘Shane cheating on him’ situation- that Brendon’s so much more attractive than Patrick will ever be.

“Hey guuuuuuys,” Brendon says, putting on his _own_ version of a pearly white and entirely fake smile. “What’s this?”

“What’s _what_?” Pete asks, sounding thoroughly exhausted. Patrick, though, he knows what Brendon’s asking about. He shifts a little on his feet, so that he doesn’t seem as close to Pete as he was before.

“This!” Brendon motions to the two of them and their coffees and the fact that they’re walking Steve the Dog. “This recent development! Are you guys fucking or something? That’s really cute, I’m happy for you Patrick! I never thought someone would find you attractive, given… well anyways, you proved me wrong!”

“What the fuck?” Pete murmurs under his breath, but Patrick’s quick response of “Pete and I aren’t dating” overpowers that. He knows it comes off super suspicious but there’s just something about being around Brendon that makes him feel so stupid. Like any confidence he’s gained since his last time being face-to-face with Brendon goes down the drain.

“Dating and fucking are two totally different things,” Brendon says matter-of-factly. “If it were, I’d be dating Shane. Oh shit, sore subject. Haha, whoops...”

“You really fucking suck, do you know that?” Pete says, stepping in front of Patrick. He doesn’t look menacing at all, but Patrick can feel his anger radiating off of him, can see it in the way his body language has changed. “Like, really.”

“Suck a lot of dick maybe,” Brendon grins. “Anyways, come _on_ guys. You reek of sex. It’s all over your faces, you can’t fool me. Ryan and I, we’re like the fucking _connoisseurs_ of secret affairs.”

Brendon’s grin only increases when he sees Pete and Patrick trade guilty looks. This blinding smile, however, soon fades into a frown when Patrick says, trying to mask his own fury by speaking in a level voice, “Brendon. I don’t fuck every person that smiles at me, unlike you. Pete and I aren’t dating, we’re just friends. I guess you don’t know what that word even means since I’ve... never actually seen you hang around anyone besides your husband who has the misfortune of being connected to you forever?” 

There’s fire in Brendon’s eyes and for the first time in his entirety of knowing him, Patrick feels like he has the upper hand.

“ _Fuck you,_ you’d probably be more fun in bed if you actually fucking got around, maybe _your_ husband wouldn’t have come sneaking behind your back for people to do what you were too pussy to—“ Brendon’s anger isn’t as well concealed as Patrick’s, but he quickly snaps out of it when he sees Patrick’s satisfied expression.

He gives the both of them brittle smiles before he says, his voice still a little shaky, “ _Whatever_. I should get going. Pat, your soulmate actually called a couple of minutes ago, so… I’ll let him know how the both of you are doing.”

He turns to Pete and he blinks at him once before he says, “I’d give your soulmate a message too but he’s like… dead. So. Nevermind!”

“Yeah, thanks for that reminder Brendon,” Pete rolls his eyes. Kind of like he’s tired of hearing the one and only thing that Brendon holds over his head. “Go fuck yourself.”

“I have your _boyfriend’s_ soulmate to do that! Byeeeeee! Oh, and just a personal tip? You’re far too old to be rocking the ‘every other twink on Grindr’ look you’ve got going on right now.”

And just like that, Brendon forcefully pushes his way past Pete and Patrick and walks back in the direction of his café. When Patrick turns to look over his shoulder at Brendon, he walks away with hunched shoulders.

“Was he talking about me? I think he was talking about me,” Pete frowns, looking down at his outfit. And Patrick would laugh because _yeah_ , Brendon was probably talking about Pete’s purple crop top, black overalls, and sunglasses combination, but he doesn’t– the weight in the pit of his stomach is far too heavy.

“He’s gonna tell Shane about the two of us,” Patrick says, swallowing hard. “My life is over.”

Pete takes the same defensive position that he was in a minute ago as he looks over Patrick’s shoulder to glare at Brendon’s barely-there silhouette. “No, he’s not,” he says, before he glances back at Patrick with a somewhat excited expression on his face. “It’s almost like he feels fucking threatened by you, I’ve never seen him get that angry before. At what you said, yeah, but I’ve also never seen him have such a _personal_ vendetta against someone like he has for you either. And usually he has this, like, holier than thou—”

“But what if he does say something,” Patrick asks, panic rising to the top of his voice.“What if, what if he just totally outs the both of us, ‘cause _you_ know how Brendon is and _I_ know how Shane is, and if he finds out, he’s gonna…”

He doesn’t finish that sentence. He just nervously takes a sip out of his coffee even though his stomach is doing somersaults and he feels like he’s gonna puke. It’s _something_ to focus on besides the obvious.

“If he finds out and tries to hurt you, I’ll kill him,” Pete says calmly before Patrick gives him an exasperated look. “Riiiiiight. _That’s_ what I fucking need. Another violent and crazy boyfriend.”

A _really_ awkward pause follows wherein Pete and Patrick both stare at each other.

“Not that we’re. Um. _Boyfriends_. Whatever. I’m trying really hard not to puke all over you right now? Like really. I’m freaking the fuck out.”

“Do you wanna sit down?” Pete asks, and Patrick shakes his head. “I mean. _Maybe_ standing in the middle of the street isn’t the best idea. I just wanna get back to work. I need to make some fuckin… some fuckin’ brownies.”

A teenager with headphones on bumps into Patrick and death glares the two of them right as _‘standing in the middle of the street’_ comes out of his mouth, effectively driving the point in. And even though Patrick turns and glares right back, murmuring under his breath that the kid’s an idiot, Pete reaches to hold Patrick’s hand.

“I know I’m not… like, helping?” Pete says. “But just. I’m here, okay? I’m not gonna let that… that musty piece of shit come near you. Seriously. I showed Gabe a picture of him with explicit directions ‘DO NOT LET THIS GUY COME INTO THE RESTAURANT’.”

“Where did you get a picture of him?” Patrick asks, trying to insert some sort of humor into this situation even though he’s quite literally losing his mind right now. “But yes. Okay. I’m sorry I’m acting this way.”

Even though the hand holding is a little difficult since Pete’s trying to juggle Steve the Dog’s leash too, they find their way. Their fingers are intertwined and just the reassuring pressure of Pete’s hand on his soothes his mind. It’s the hand with the ribbon on it, because _that’s_ still a thing two months later, and whenever Pete’s skin brushes against it, Patrick’s wrist aches. The yearning kind of ache. The feeling swells in Patrick’s chest, then it bursts.

“You’re not being any way,” Pete rolls his eyes in the endearing _‘I feel you’_ kind of way. “I can sort of feel your panic right now. I just… like, you know you’re safe with us, right? Or at least know that we want you to feel that way. I can’t stop Brendon and Shane from being pieces of actual human garbage, but I’m always gonna be here with my weird way of saying things to tell you that you’re way more than what they try to tell you that you are.”

“I just don’t know why it’s _me_ ,” Patrick says. “And why Brendon hates me so much. He has the life I wanted! For the longest fucking time! He doesn’t like me even though I’m still lost, a year later.”

“Lost?” Pete asks, and Patrick shrugs, looking back down at their hands. “Like. He’s got the café. And he’s got his husband. And _then_ he has my soulmate? And somehow that’s working out for them? And he looks happy and healthy, and then there’s _me_ , who’s still... _lost_ , y’know. I’m not… _in_ a relationship and I’m running around like a crazy person trying to make everyone happy, like Ash and Tyler and Josh, and it’s not working so I feel like a total waste of a person, like why—and then I feel like therapy isn’t working because I leave there and I want to run into traffic which I think is counterproductive.”

He pauses for a moment before he shakes his head. “No, no, not that therapy isn’t working, I’m coming to terms with stuff I didn’t want to, it’s fine, I’m learning from it, but I feel more alone than ever. I just thought that leaving him wouldn’t be like this.”

It’s as quiet as strolling down a busy street can be for an uncomfortable amount of time. Like an _excruciating_ amount of time. To the point that Patrick really _does_ want to puke, just for something to do, since words are suddenly stuck in his throat.

“You’re not in a relationship… right…” Pete says hesitantly, and Patrick rolls his eyes in the ‘ _you’re starting to annoy me_ ’ kind of way. “Yeah. I’m not. You’re not my boyfriend just like how I’m not your boyfriend. Which is why Brendon has nothing to tell Shane.”

“You’re making this so difficult.”

“I’m making _what_ difficult. _Pete._ ”

“I mean, do you want… I mean, we are… _exclusive_ ,” Pete says, and Patrick winces. This is pretty terrible.

“Yes, we’re exclusive. You’re making me queasy.”

“Stop! I’m nervous.”

“Why? You know I’d say yes.”

“I don’t know that for a _definite_ fact!”

“Okay, but it’s implied. Like, we hang out way too much and we fuck way too much for it to not be a thing but you didn’t say anything and I didn’t say anything even though Meryl told me that we should define the relationship—”

“She told me that too!”

“Makes sense, we see the same therapist. Does she talk about me?”

“Not about what you tell her, but she talks about you a lot. Since _I_ talk about you a lot. So… y’know…” Pete smiles shyly.

“God, that’s weird.”

“Okay, but you talk about me too, right?”

“Well, yeah. I topped for the first time with you, how could I not?”

They take a break from their fast paced conversation to laugh together. They stop at the street corner to wait for the light to turn green and Pete buries his head in Patrick’s shoulder, still laughing when he says, “Yeah, and then you topped every fucking time after.”

“Yeah, and _who’s_ fault is that? Last time I checked, you’re the one who begs me to—”

Pete shifts his head a little so that they’re kissing. The angles are all awkward and Steve the Dog is pulling at the leash, but the warm summer breeze hits their faces and droplets of condensation on Pete’s cup of iced coffee fall onto Patrick’s shoulder since Pete’s framing his face with that hand, and it feels _good_. Feels like something Patrick can latch onto and something that he can call his.

“I wanna change that,” Pete says when pulls himself back. He does this thing with his eyes that drives Patrick crazy with want. “Not the you topping thing, that's great. I mean, I wanna change your, um. Relationship status.”

“I’m not that easy,” Patrick says, even though he’s beaming. Even though everything in his body is screaming **‘YES’** , something that still feels so rare since, up to last year, it always screamed **‘NO’**.

“You have to put in more effort than _that_ if you wanna date me,” Patrick says teasingly.

“I will,” Pete promises, kissing Patrick’s hand, the one that’s still holding onto his. “Fuck. Okay.”

“Okay,” Patrick repeats, still smiling wide. “Wow. Okay.”

The light turns green.

They keep walking.

This is a date.

* * *

Although they go their separate ways when they reach the restaurant, Patrick racing to the kitchen to work out his stress on a batch of brownies and Pete taking his time exchanging Steve the Dog with MJ before she goes on her break, and making his way into his office to do boring Owner-Of-A-Restaurant stuff afterwards, Patrick is _with_ Pete, in his head.

It’s not necessarily anything new, he’s used to his thoughts being filled by Patrick’s familiar blue eyes, but right now, those thoughts feel different because they feel _optimistic_. Instead of those fantasies being crushed instantly with mental images of Mikey, they just… play out. In fact, Mikey doesn’t make any appearance at all. And Pete doesn’t even notice. There isn’t any room for glimpses of Mikey when Pete’s going through different ways of asking Patrick out, making mental plans to run to the florist, figuring out how he’s gonna squeeze in time to run home to make pumpkin squares to surprise Patrick with… all pretty basic ideas, yeah, but they’re a starting point.

The truth is that the concept of dating Patrick wasn’t something that jumped up on him in the moment while on the street. It’s been something that’s been brewing and sitting in his head for a long time. Aging kinda like expensive wine because the idea just keeps getting better and better. Maybe there should be more thought involved. _Don’t jump the gun; think about this before you fall headfirst in_ . But he’s not… not fucking getting married and having babies with him, it’s not like with Mikey, it’s _just_ a relationship. One that they’ve been having on the down-low for two months anyway, it just wasn’t an active thing.

But is it _really_ just a relationship? There’s something greater that Pete can feel deep in his bones, something different. Something that’s reminiscent of soulmates. Little things like looking across the room at Patrick and feeling what he’s feeling. Feeling his nervousness on the street with Brendon. Feeling the same rush of love when they look at each other in the dark covered in sweat and come, electrical sparks when he brushes Patrick’s hair out of his eyes.  

He’s relearning things he never thought he’d feel again. It feels fucking magical. The least Pete can do is give Patrick a good boyfriend proposal. Or whatever the word would be.

He’s still feeling the effects of his walk with Patrick, smiling like a maniac and scribbling ideas into his journal so fast that his words look like gibberish, when Ashley walks into the office with a customer service smile on her face. This means bad news.

“Soooooo, there’s a guy that wants to talk to you personally? Something about, uh,” she clears her throat and then says in a high pitched voice, “ _the worst food I’ve ever tasted in my life’_ and—hey, what the fuck, are those my sunglasses?!”

“Uh, maybe?” Pete lies. “And shit. Okay. What did he order, was it—” “Dude, I have no idea. He’s in Hayley’s section, let’s go.”

So, he goes. And his _‘no thoughts about Mikey thing’_ comes crashing down in seconds when he sees a familiar head of bright, dyed red hair.

 _“Gee?”_ Pete legitimately shrieks when he sees Mikey’s one and only sibling grinning at him from a seat in Hayley’s section, and he jumps into Gee’s arms when they get up to hug him. It's become bittersweet, meeting up with Gee, because it always ends with the two of them crying about Mikey, but the good mood from today transfers so that this moment just feels plain saccharine. Then again, it always starts like this.

“Oh my God, what…?” Pete searches Gee’s face for any sign that something in the family has gone wrong, for any distress, but he’s only greeted with the same shit-eating grin. “What’re you doing here, what the fuck, why didn’t you call?” Pete asks, but there’s no hostility attached to it, mostly just extreme amounts of excitement.

“You know I love a good surprise,” Gee says, still laughing as they sit back down, still with that easy smile on their face. “I told Ash, I was like ‘act like I’m a total asshole and I need to speak to the manager’.”

“I didn’t, okay, the last thing I expected was—oh my God, hi, what? How are you doing? How’s—I can’t believe you’re here right now,” Pete stumbles over his words, his mind running itself into overdrive, and Gee rests their hand over Pete’s. “Pete, _holy shit_. Remind me to never do that again, you look like you’re having a heart attack.”

Pete swallows hard and blinks a couple times, trying to reset his system, as Gee orders a coffee for themself when Hayley comes up to their table. He can’t, though. Not because Gee is the closest person to Mikey that Pete knows, just because—it’s _Gee_. 

“Seriously,” Pete says breathlessly, “What’re you doing here? You couldn’t have come from New Jersey just to fuck with me.”

“Lindsey and I are roadtripping with Bandit for her birthday, we figured we’d stop by since y’know… we haven’t exactly _seen_ you in a while,” Gee explains. “She wants to do Disneyland. And Lynz and I were like, ‘ _fuck_ , why couldn’t she have picked Disneyworld?’”

“Her birthday,” Pete blinks. He looks down guiltily. “Right.”

“Yeah, her birthday,” Gee says. It’s not exactly a warm statement, but Gee is never spiteful so it’s not entirely cold either. They lean back in their seat and cross their arms. “We would have done it earlier but she had school and then she enrolled herself into art camp, which would have been a problem because _she enrolled herself_ , but it was art camp, so it was like _‘fuck yeah, you’re going to art camp’_.”

Pete didn’t forget about her birthday, that’s not what’s eating at him. That’s why calendars exist. But he and Mikey used to always drive down to Jersey for her birthday since they were her godfathers. Except Pete hadn’t done that this year, breaking tradition even though the tradition had already been broken by Mikey’s death three years prior.

Gee looks at him expectantly, but with comforting eyes. “You could have called, y’know. She was waiting for you.”

“Was she waiting for Mikey too?” Pete asks, and Gee sighs tiredly, shaking their head. “No, she wasn’t. She just—Jesus Christ, Pete. You can’t run away from us, I won’t allow it. You know you’re still a thousand percent part of our family, Mikey’s death doesn’t change that.”

“I know, I just…” Pete falls short. There isn’t an explanation that Gee wants to hear because there really isn’t an explanation besides the truth, the truth that no one understands. “I just feel fucking guilty. You know I do. I can’t… can’t shake that feeling, I can’t look your parents in the face without seeing him, _dead_ , on the ground, I can’t—I’ve been seeing a therapist.”

“That’s good,” Gee says. “I’m glad you started taking my ad—”

They get interrupted by Hayley bringing two mugs to the table.

“Pete, I just figured you wanted one too,” she says to him, pouring coffee into both of the cups. “I made a fresh pot for my favorite person.”

She grins, looking between the both of them. “And by favorite person, I mean Gee. Obviously.”

“You‘re annoying,” Pete rolls his eyes. “But thanks. I guess.”

“Thanks Hayley,” Gee smiles up at her. “Did you hear about the prank that Ashley and I pulled?”

And as Hayley and Gee carry on with their quick conversation, Pete internally freaks out. Because suddenly _Patrick_ comes to mind. Why didn’t he go down to see Bandit? The Mikey thing is true. He can’t look at Mikey’s parents without feeling extreme amounts of guilt for inadvertently killing their son. But also, there was the guilt about his feelings towards Patrick. Bandit’s birthday was right around the time he and Patrick had that talk on Patrick’s balcony two months ago. Around the time that his feelings for Patrick became something fucking _real_. Patrick never was just a hook-up, but that night, naked except for some bedsheets on Patrick’s balcony, bawling his eyes out, that was real. Something so close to what he had with Mikey that he couldn’t even think to look at Gee or their family in the face because he was afraid that they would be able to tell that he was shitting all over his marriage with Mikey.

When Hayley leaves, Gee resumes the conversation. “So, you were saying about therapy?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’ve been… I’ve been going, trying to get through that guilt. Because I know you think that it’s—not _dumb_ , I just, I know that it seems like something that isn’t true, because there wasn’t anything I could do, but it’s only now, like, a month ago kind of now, that I’m trying to work through that. Trying to… to accept that it wasn’t my fault. And I was struggling with that so bad lately, especially around that time.”

“Why?” Gee asks. “Why was it so bad in May? His death anniversary was back in March.”

“Because…” Pete tries to say, but he can’t. He can’t even say Patrick’s name.

“Oh… shit. Wow,” Gee says, and Pete looks up. “What?”

“You’re seeing someone,” Gee says. Just like that. “That’s why you’ve been feeling extra guilty lately.”

Pete can’t lie to Gee. Not just because he would feel like shit about it, but because Gee can read through Pete’s bullshit. Still, that doesn’t mean that the actual words come out of his mouth easily. They don’t at all. He just stares at Gee with a deer-in-the-headlights sort of expression.

“Pete,” Gee says softly. “You didn’t have to hide it from me. Mikey’s… Mikey’s dead, okay? For a long time now.”

“I know,” Pete says. His voice is raw with emotion. Opening up to Gee isn’t something he’s done recently, so he’s forgotten how good it feels. “I swore that I would never move on because I didn’t deserve to. Because it was my fault. I never thought someone like him would come and… and rearrange everything I planned myself, you know?”

“You planned misery for yourself,” Gee says. “I think this guy is the best fucking thing that happened to you if that’s the case.”

Gee laughs softly when they see Pete start to cry, but it’s a reassuring kind of laughter, and they get up from their side of the booth to Pete’s, to wrap an arm around his shoulder and embrace him. “I feel like every time I see you, we end up like this.”

“I’m a fucking emotional guy, sue me,” Pete says, rushing to wipe his eyes. “I just… _fuck_ , you know? I really like him. I just can’t stop feeling bad about that.”

“That’s why I’m glad you’re finally opening yourself to getting better,” Gee says. “The one time you listen to my advice.”

“You’re gonna kill me…” Pete says, laughing tearfully when he sees Gee raise their eyebrow. “I’m going to therapy because _he_ convinced me. We made a pact, we sort of go because the other one goes.”

“Okay, _who_ is this guy and why does he have more control over you than me?!” Gee yells jokingly before they go back to being quasi-serious. “He sounds really good for you. You have no idea how happy this makes me, seriously, it’s what you deserve. It’s what Mikey would have wanted for you, I’m sure of it.”

“If he got over his jealous streak,” Pete says, and Gee laughs. “Yeah, he definitely wouldn’t have wanted it while he was still around, but… you know I accepted his death a long time ago. I still think about him every fucking day but... I know that he would have wanted me, wanted _us_ , to live our lives and move on."

“It’s just hard,” Pete pulls at his hair a little. “To think like that. My brain isn’t wired like that. I don’t know what Mikey would have wanted. I don’t know if, if Mikey would have approved of—”

“You clearly didn’t know _your soulmate_ if you’re saying that. It’s just the guilt that’s making you think that.”

“Yeah, I know, and I can’t stop it,” Pete says, before he considers just this afternoon. When there wasn’t any guilt present in his body. When it was only happiness. “Or, at least I _couldn’t_. It’s getting better for me, I think. My feelings for _him_ , they’re—”

“Does this guy have a name?” Gee interrupts.

Pete corrects himself, and he can’t stop the way that he naturally smiles when he says his name. “My feelings for _Patrick_ , they’re sort of… fuck, this is lame.”

“Love is lame. But the best kind of lame,” Gee says. “Everything about soulmates is so goddamn cheesy and yet it’s the best thing to happen to me.”

“Yeah, see, _that_ was cheesy. Anyways, my feelings for Patrick… for the longest time, they hurt like hell and made me feel horrible. But right now, I look at him and I feel safe. Like, I don’t have to hide when I’m with him. I’ve never been so honest with someone before, and with him, most of the time, the words just spill.”

Gee’s eyes get a little watery too, though they blink it away. “Pete, that’s fucking amazing. How long have you guys been dating?”

Pete makes a face. “Well. _That’s_ the thing.”

“Dude, you’re exhausting. You haven’t asked him out yet?”

“I will! You got me at the weirdest time. We were just talking about it, we’ve been sorta dating for a while anyway, but there’s something that’s changed, I know it. Today feels different. It might just be because you’re here. The universe knew you were coming to give me your blessing or something…”

Gee scoffs. “ _Please_. You don’t need my blessing, it just would have been nice to know, _but_ I understand where you’re coming from. Just… promise to call us? Once in a while? We all miss you. Mom and Dad included. And Bandit especially.”

“Yeah,” Pete exhales shakily. Not because he doesn’t think he’d actually do it though, it’s just the goddamn timing. Everything falling into place, something that doesn’t happen for him _ever_. “I will. How long are you guys staying in Chicago, maybe we could do dinner or something?”

As Gee moves back to their side of the booth and as the both of them continue their easy conversation, making plans for dinner and dessert and talking about Bandit’s school year, the restaurant gets busier and busier. This isn’t much of a surprise to Pete, he knows the busy hours and knows how to schedule people (it goes without saying that Tyler is _not_ scheduled until much later in the day), so people run back and forth from the kitchen to the lobby often enough that Pete doesn’t really keep track. Seeing Patrick on the floor shouldn’t give him total whiplash… except, that’s exactly what happens.

“–and they want to turn it into a show? Umbrella Academy? With Ellen Page? With _Juno_?!” Gee yells excitedly, accidentally sloshing coffee on the table since they talk with their hands and they’re _really_ animated right now, “I mean, I mean she’s _more_ than Juno, but Juno?! And—why aren’t you screaming right now, where are you looking.”

“What?” Pete asks, turning his attention back on Gee and away from Patrick three tables in front of them, who’s bashfully accepting the praises coming from the couple sitting there for whatever the fuck he made them. Gee turns their head, sizes Patrick up, and then turns back. “That’s him?”

Pete nods, feeling his palms begin to sweat since Gee’s turned back around facing Patrick. “He’s, um. Does desserts. And—wait, are you gonna call him over here, because—”

“Hi!” Gee says a little louder than normal to get Patrick’s attention. Pete smiles nervously, it’s all teeth and a bit unsettling, and his heart beats like… super fucking fast. And he knows Patrick can sense his nervousness too because Patrick takes his glasses off and wipes them on his shirt, which is _his_ nervous tick, when he’s close enough to the table. 

“I’m Gee,” Gee introduces themself, holding a hand out once Patrick’s close enough. “You must be Patrick? Pete’s told me a lot about you.”

Patrick gives Pete another sideways glance, _what have you been telling people?_ , before he shakes Gee’s hand with a gentle and polite smile. “Yeah, I’m Patrick. I feel like your name is familiar too?”

“Gee’s my brother-in-law. Sorta,” Pete says to Patrick, and he does his best to hide his wince when Patrick immediately turns back to look at Gee with wide eyes. “Oh. _Oh_.”

“Yeah, _sorta_ ,” Gee laughs. “Not really a brother, but. There’s no gender-neutral word for ‘sibling’ that I like and Mikey’s always called me ‘Big Bro’ since we were young and then… anyway, long story. Hi! It’s nice to meet you. Cool to put a face to everything Pete’s told me. Do you wanna sit?”

With his hands shaking, Patrick looks over to Pete for a moment. And it isn't anything concrete or anything certain, but Pete can swear he hears Patrick's voice in his head, _"what the fuck kind of situation have you put me in?!" ,_ like the way you can feel cigarette smoke in your body.Something lingering.  

But, Patrick settles for the polite thing to do, because it's Patrick. He motions for Pete to move down in the booth, and then he sits down when Pete makes the space for him.

“Yeah, I’ll sit. Sorry, I’m just a little... I don’t know? I just didn’t think I’d meet you… I guess,” Patrick laughs nervously. “I hope all the things Pete told you are good…?”

Pete and Patrick's arms and knees touch and Patrick rests his hand on Pete’s thigh for comfort. Where his hands lay, Pete can feel Patrick's anxious energy spread through him like a lightning bolt.

“They’re more than good,” Gee reassures him, “You guys seem to make a really great pair.”

Patrick ducks his head and smiles. And just seeing Patrick’s genuine smile lifts Pete’s spirits, makes him feel more hopeful for this interaction. Because it started off pretty rough. Still _is_ pretty rough.

“Thanks,” Patrick says, sheepishness taking the place of nervousness. “That means a lot, like, coming from you, y’know. I mean, I feel like I sound like a total idiot right now, but like, really, it means a lot, I thought you were gonna. Kill me. Or something…”

“Why?” Gee asks, and Patrick shrugs. “Because Mikey was your brother and I’m like… the other woman.”

“Hold on. You’re so _not_ the ‘other woman’,” Pete says. “You’re my favorite person in the world.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Patrick says, his face turning red. “You can’t say stuff like that out of the blue.”

“What? That you’re my favorite person, favorite person?’ Pete teases, and Patrick pushes him away lightheartedly. “Yes! Now I’m all flustered. I mean, you’re my favorite person too, but—look, you’re making me look dumb in front of Gee.”

Gee laughs. “It’s okay, I don’t think you look dumb. You guys are cute. I was telling Pete, I said that Mikey would love you.”

Gee talking to Patrick is something that Pete would have never envisioned and more so would have never initiated. Because Patrick isn’t the ‘other woman’ like he claims, that word is so… _Brendon and Ryan_ , but Gee is _Mikey’s_ family. And Mikey and Patrick exist on opposite sides of Pete’s mind. But right now, as Patrick and Gee make, albeit kinda awkward, conversation, and as Gee talks to Patrick about Mikey and tells him that Mikey would like him? That big shift that he’s been feeling all day towards Patrick, towards being able to finally move on, just heightens. He can physically feel a burden being lifted off of his heart and off his mind.

“That’s so nice, you’re so nice,” Patrick says, bringing his hand up to hide his face since he’s definitely flustered with all of the praise. “I met him once, but it was a really long time ago.”

“Really?” Gee asks, and Patrick nods. “Yeah, I used to work at this other bakery with my, uh, ex-soulmate a couple of years back.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear about your soulmate,” Gee says, and Patrick laughs, adjusting the ribbon on his wrist underneath the table, a clear indication to Pete that that comment hurt a little more than he’s letting on. “I’m not.”

“For your soulmate?” Gee asks, confusion in their voice, and before Pete can say it, Patrick does– “Yeahhhhh, he’s not dead. We’re just not together anymore.”

“Patrick’s ex was a total piece of shit,” Pete explains and Patrick nods. “Yeah, what he said. And—”

“RICKY, YOUR TIMER WENT OFF!” Sameer suddenly interrupts their conversation from all the way across the restaurant. “I TURNED IT OFF BUT I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO NEXT!”

“Wait, please don’t yell across the—” Pete tries to say but then Patrick’s shouting “I’LL BE THERE IN A SECOND!” over him.

“My timer went off and Sam doesn’t know what to do next, so I gotta go,” Patrick tells Gee and Pete as if they didn’t just hear that interaction. “But it was really nice meeting you, Gee. Hopefully the next time we meet I’m not running around like a crazy person?”

He presses a light kiss on Pete’s cheek and then gets up to go look after the brownies in the oven, but before he can leave, Gee stands up too.

“Do you do hugs?” Gee asks, and when Patrick looks over to Pete for some sort of an explanation, Pete shrugs. “Gee hugs everyone. It’s a thing.”

“It’s a thing,” Gee agrees.

And watching Patrick and Gee hug feels like the closest goddamn thing to closure Pete’s sure he’s ever going to get. Two sides of his life colliding and in a _good_ way? It’s an actual miracle. When Gee sits back down, they just give Pete a proud smile. “He’s really cool, you did good. So, what, he left his soulmate?”

“Dude,” Pete says exasperatedly, and Gee shrugs. “I put the ‘Gee’ in gossip.”

A beat.

“Okay, that was really bad.”

“It was horrible.”

“It was a little funny. Anyway… that _ribbon_?”

Pete makes a hand-gesture that stands for _‘I don’t know’_. “I’unno. It took a lot of courage to leave his soulmate, he just hates seeing that name on his skin, you know? He doesn’t really ever take it off… except for sometimes…”

One thing he’s absolutely _not_ going to do is talk about his sex-life with Gee. Thankfully, Gee doesn’t push. They do, however, stay on the topic of soulmate marks.

“Well… soulmate marks can change,” Gee says, hesitantly. “Do you think that…?”

Has Pete thought about it? Yes.

Does Pete want to actually entertain that idea? Absolutely not.

“That my mark would change? I doubt it. I doubt his would change too because... I don’t know. My name wouldn’t change, I’m always going to love Mikey. I love Patrick differently, but not, not in a _soulmate_ way. I wouldn’t fuck with Mikey’s… Mikey’s _spirit_ like that. Or something.”

“You don’t sound too sure,” Gee says calmly, which only puts Pete more on edge. “I am sure! I am a thousand percent sure. I love Patrick, so fucking much, but it’s not the same. It’s not like Mikey. It _can’t_ be like Mikey. No one can replace him like that, it’s just _different._ Wanting to date Patrick and, and wanting to _erase_ Mikey’s name on my body are two separate things.”

“Well, what other way can you love someone?” Gee asks. It’s a sincere question and it’s nothing that’s going to trap Pete into saying something he would regret, but Pete can’t _help_ but be defensive. Not having Mikey’s name on his wrist would be the worst thing to lose. The last piece of Mikey left on him. It’s not easy, the thought of that disappearing.

“What do you mean? S-S- _Soulmate_ love isn’t, isn't—“

“I mean, you don’t love Patrick like a brother. You clearly like him more than a friend. There’s something there, beneath the surface—“

“No, there isn’t, there’s—“

“Yes, there is! Those, those ‘shifts’ in the atmosphere you were talking about, that voice in your head telling you that Patrick’s the one? That’s something beyond us.”

There’s a moment of silence.

Pete’s head hurts.

“I can’t talk about this,” he says quietly.

Gee sighs, but it’s not one of defeat. Their hands rest on top of Pete’s and they look Pete in the eye. “Pete. I want you to find happiness again. I _want_ that for you, you’re my brother too. Patrick seems good for you. Like, _really_ good. Don’t fuck this up because you’re stuck in the past. Because you’re going to lose him, I’m sure of that.”

Pete looks down at Mikey’s name in bold over his wrist. The one thing that was always constant in Pete’s life, even if Mikey himself wasn’t. He tries imagining Patrick’s name there instead, and then he looks away.

* * *

**‘i watch you work the room / hips pressed to mine – true blue / life is more than alright when you let yourself know it / theres not a hole in your head or your heart if you don’t want there to be / but sometimes i miss being down all the time like it was a close friend that moved away / but sometimes the inside of my head and my heart and my stomach all meet up into this wretched combination / its funny how people get nostalgic for the worst times in your life… / i just want to let myself be happy’ –pw**

Pete steps away from the wall and wipes red chalk on his pants. Usually, he’ll wait to make contributions to the wall, but when the words come to him, he writes them down. And when he doesn’t have his journal with him, sometimes the wall is his only option. Baring his soul for everyone to see, but when _hasn’t_ that been the case?

He feels like an empty room and the world is constantly switching a light switch on and off. He’s got no control of it, the only thing he’s got is the mood that comes with the darkness and the light. Right now, he’s feeling real dark. He wants to crawl to wherever home is but he doesn’t know where that is. He wants to feel complete again but he wants to be kept torn apart because the distant thought of happiness, of genuine real happiness, is suddenly too close for comfort.

“Hi,” Patrick says behind him, and when Pete turns around, Patrick’s warm and kind eyes greet him. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Pete says, laughing a little. “Nothing. I don’t know? What’s up?”

Patrick reaches for Pete’s wrist, and Pete twists his hand so that their fingers intertwine instead. The spread of warmth in his chest scares Pete but he’s addicted to it so he pulls Patrick a little closer. “I’m a bad person, Patrick,” Pete says. “I can’t, I can’t do this to you.”

“Do what?” Patrick asks, pulling Pete the one step down from the stage so that they’re even closer. Goodness _oozes_ out of Patrick’s pores like sugary syrup. It makes Pete’s heart hurt in a bad way.

“Fuck you up,” Pete says. “I w- _want_ to date you, you’re my, my person, but you’re… I can’t give you what you want.”

“Which is?” Patrick asks again, and Pete points to Patrick’s ribbon. “The name. I can’t… you know I can’t.”

“I don’t… necessarily care about the name,” Patrick says hesitantly. Pete gives him a pointed look.

“Okay, I do! But I don’t care about the name in terms of, that’s the least of my—you’re my person too, okay? All bullshit aside, I don’t care about the name. The universe already proved to me that it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t need your name on my wrist to prove that you like me. I already know that you do.”

“So much,” Pete gushes. “I like you so much.”

“So what’re you afraid of?” Patrick asks. “That I would…? Leave you if your name couldn’t change too?”

“I don’t want _mine_ to change,” Pete says, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look at Patrick’s face when he says it.

“Oh.”

“I told you, I’m—I’m fucked up, but I need to be honest with you. About it. It’s not, not something that I can accept. Not right now. Or ever.”

He can tell that Patrick doesn’t like that answer. He opens his eyes and he looks into Patrick’s eyes and he knows that there’s hurt there. Patrick’s silent for a moment, but his hold on Pete’s hand is steadying. For a while, it always felt like Pete was putting the pieces of Patrick back together but it’s moments like these where Pete realizes it’s always been the opposite. That even though Patrick’s younger and he’s been through way more shit than Pete ever has, he’s the stronger one.

“Okay,” Patrick says, his voice steady. Like it’s not even a thought he had to go over in his mind even though Pete knows he’s asking for a lot.  “I can work with that.”

“Patrick,” Pete says, his voice cracking. He’s always the one to break down first. But right now, it’s because of all of that sugary love pushing its way through his veins, not because of the big black sadness. “I love you.”

“Yeah,” Patrick laughs softly. “I love you too. Which is why I—the name thing, it… bothers me a little, but our situations are different. I know that. And like I said, I don’t doubt _this_ because of some stupid writing on my skin. I want you, everything included.”

“Everything,” Pete says, a little dumbfounded. Mostly because it’s something he’s never had to ask of someone before. Everything was already written into the formula when Pete’s name was stitched into Mikey’s wrist.

Patrick smiles. “Everything. Except for my name on your wrist. But everything besides that!”

And when Pete laughs, Patrick cups his face with his hands and kisses him. And when Pete kisses back, he fucking means it. Letting himself have a taste of that happiness.

But, like _basically everything_ that happens in this restaurant, their intimate moment gets quickly interrupted by Tyler.

“I hate to butt in… kinda,” Tyler says. “But can I get my paycheck…please.”

Pete glares over Patrick’s shoulder, where Patrick’s silently laughing because _of course_ they get interrupted, and he wipes his face with his hands because of all of the wetness from his happy tears. “Give me five minutes. I’m sort of busy?”

“Yeah, I _sort of_ have to catch the bus,” Tyler replies back, with his arms crossed. “But fine. I’ll just be… here.”

And when Pete turns back to Patrick and he mouths _‘deep breath!’_ , Pete rearranges himself, wiping his face entirely clean and pressing one last kiss behind Patrick’s ear before he goes to get Tyler’s check. “I’m going, I’m going…”

“You’re taking the bus?” Patrick asks, trying to talk through a wide smile since he’s still a little lovestruck from Pete’s kiss. “Why? I thought Sam was bringing everyone home. And I could have sworn Ash said something about pizza.”

“Yeah, everyone,” Tyler says. There’s this look on his face that Patrick doesn’t like. A stale smile that isn’t a smile at all. “I’m not part of everyone, remember?”

“Tyler,” Patrick says exasperatedly. “Come on.”

“I’m not,” he says. “It’s fine. I don’t need to be there, you guys have a better time without me! It’s fine!”

“We _don’t_ ,” Patrick pushes, and Tyler shrugs. He pulls his phone out from his pocket, and he talks to his fingers where he’s aggressively trying to untangle his earphones. “I have plans, anyway. So tell Josh to come home whenever he wants, I’m not going to be there. You know, so he doesn’t have to sneak around me.”

“Stop being stupid,” Patrick says, and Tyler’s hands shake as he tries to connect the earphones and his phone together. “I’m not being stupid. Have a good time.”

“You are being stupid, you’re being _so fucking stupid_ , it’s—you’re coming to band practice tomorrow no matter what. You don’t have to cancel your plans tonight, but tomorrow morning. _Please_. We miss you.”

“Band practice? There’s no fucking band. We just sit around and do nothing and play stupid love songs that don’t matter, and none of it matters, and it’s a waste of fucking time and _oh my God_ I can’t get these headphones in, _I’m going to murder someone_.”

Patrick wordlessly rips Tyler’s stuff out of his hands and helps him out. He hands him back his phone but Tyler shrugs away from Patrick’s comforting touch when he tries to rest his hand on his shoulder. And when Patrick tries to give him a pointed _‘stop doing this to yourself and accept the fact that we’re friends’_ look, Tyler looks away.

“Here’s your paycheck,” Pete says, his voice stills kinda sniffly. Tyler takes it from Pete, thanks him quietly, and without saying goodbye, he shoves his earphones in his ears and walks out.

“The fuck is his problem?” Pete asks, and Patrick shakes his head, watching Tyler’s back disappear into the darkness from outside. “It’s a lot. We already knew that.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Pete rolls his eyes. “Okay. Fuck. That threw me off. Where were we? Making out?”

“Be my boyfriend,” Patrick answers instead. It might just be the adrenaline from almost straight up punching Tyler in the face, but he feels confident in this. It’s the sexiest feeling ever– feeling sturdy in his decision.

Pete just blinks at him. “I thought it took more than that to woo you.”

“Just say yes,” Patrick says breathlessly. “I can’t wait any longer. I feel like I’m gonna fucking explode any moment.”

“Then yes,” Pete says, his tone echoing Patrick’s––he’s knocked out of air. Suddenly, Patrick’s touch is what he needs to breathe. Which _is_ cheesy but it’s reminiscent of something that Gee said earlier… something about soulmates…?

So, the next set of people to find Pete and Patrick find them in a less desirable position––Patrick’s back digging into the side of the bar counter, his elbows pressing uncomfortably into the hard wood, with Pete pressed to his front, close enough for Patrick to feel his half-hard dick against his thigh. They’re making out messily, and Pete’s two seconds away from throwing all logic out the door and shoving his hand down the front of Patrick’s pants, but then all of their friends come out of the kitchen with their belongings to leave for the night, and then Pete’s suddenly thankful for having at least two functioning brain cells.

“No making out in the restaurant, how many times do I have to tell you that?!” Hayley yells jokingly, laughing when Pete throws his hands up to surrender. Patrick just knocks his head back onto the counter, tired of everyone interrupting.

“Yeah, sorry to interrupt the moment, but we’re getting pizza and they close in half an hour and like. That’s a priority. You guys coming?” Ashley asks, and when Patrick gives Pete a curious look from his spot, Pete shakes his head. “I’m going out with Gee and the family tonight. But thanks for the invite. Also… Tyler? How’s that?”

Sam looks plain guilty. Josh gives a tired sigh. And Ashley frowns. “We’re not talking about that.”

“No,” Patrick actually sits up for this one. “We’re talking about it.”

“ _You guys_ are talking about it. _I’m_ leaving. This is your problem, not mine,” Pete says, and before any of them can protest, Pete points to the clock. “I was supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago.”

“So then why didn’t you?” Ashley asks. “Oh. Right. Makeout session.”

“It was well deserved!” Patrick tries to defend himself. “We’re like. Wait, Pete, are we telling them?”’

“You have to tell now,” Hayley says, looking between Patrick and Pete suspiciously. “You can’t say there’s something to say and then not say it. You’d be blue-balling us and that’s not nice.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking rude!” Ashley argues when Pete and Patrick trade grins and Pete pretends to seal his mouth shut.

“We’re like...  _officially_ dating,” Patrick says, going for a nonchalant approach so that the reaction will be big. But his four friends just look between each other with bored expressions.

“Oh. That was it?”

“ _Yes_ , that was it! It’s a big deal!. Like, for me. Y’know, the whole abusive soulmate thing? Me being traumatized? Pete being my first boyfriend since then? _It’s a big deal!_ ” Patrick asks, and _that’s_ when his friends go for half-assed, “Oh, true!”, “Yay Patrick!”, “Ricky, that’s awesome!”

“We weren’t dating before! Dating and fucking are two different things, Brendon Urie told me so!” Patrick says, faking anger as he reciprocates Hayley’s celebratory hug.

“Riiiiight, and since when do we listen to Brendon Urie?” Hayley asks him, and he considers that for a moment before he reluctantly agrees.

Everyone stands around for another minute or two, making _totally_ inappropriate jokes about Patrick only asking Pete out for a pay raise and about how if they had to pick sides if Pete and Patrick broke up, they would pick Patrick’s because everyone likes Patrick more (Pete agrees with this one—he likes Patrick better than himself too, and when he says that, everyone takes it back and says that they’ll be traitors and be on both sides), but eventually, they take their leave since there’s a pizza pie waiting. Pete and Patrick do their sappy honeymoon phase thing and kiss before Patrick gets in the car, everyone argues about the music selection, etcetera etcetera etcetera. It’s very typical.

The only thing out of the ordinary is that Sam brings up the dreaded conversation topic halfway to his place to pick up Jessica.

“Okay, I have something to say,” Sam says, turning down the car radio a smidge. “So, I’m just gonna come out and say it.”

Josh and Hayley trade equally tired looks. Patrick’s wrist hurts so he half-nods when Hayley mouths ‘ _this is gonna be bad’_. Ashley turns to him and raises her eyebrows. “Go on.”

“Tyler’s like… part of our family,” he says. “And we’re a chosen family. We can’t ignore our _chosen_ family, that’s just… that’s just not in the fucking definition!”

“Tyler is a total shithead,” Ashley says. “He’s _horrible_ to Josh. Who, by the way, is part of our family too.”

Josh just waves when Sam looks at him in the rearview window. “Sup.”

“He has his reasons,” Sameer defends Tyler pretty weakly but the intent is there. “He _does_. He just has a fucked up way of conveying his emotions. What we’re doing to him is really messing him up and it’s very… us against him. Which isn’t cool.”

Patrick would say something to add to this but no, his wrist _really_ hurts. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the conversation as much as he can.

“It’s not,” Ashley defends herself. “It’s not cool. But you know what isn’t cool too? Tyler being, like, _so_ unnecessarily mean to the person that he’s supposedly in love with—” “Wait, he’s in _what_ with me—” “—like we’re in elementary school or something! He has to know that he’s being a piece of shit about it.”

“Can we just, just _backtrack_ for a second, because—” Josh tries to ask, but Sameer and Ashley are louder than him.

“He, he _does_ , okay,” Sam stumbles over his words, “But it’s. Fuck. I don’t know. I don’t know what to say but I love him and I hate seeing him like this and I hate hanging out without him because he’s our friend. That’s what I wanted to say. Tyler’s not a shitty person, it’s just a shitty circumstance…”

“What is a shitty circumstance?!” Josh asks. “This is news to me.”

“Because you weren’t supposed to know. Oops. Cats out the fucking bag,” Ashley rolls her eyes. “This is like Pete and Patrick. Everyone knows they’re dating. Just like everyone knows Tyler’s irrationally in love with you and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.”

“ _I_ didn’t know that,” Josh argues. “And he’s not in love with me because if he were he wouldn’t be sleeping with every other person on the planet.”

“Yikes!” Hayley interjects. Patrick just kinda nods along. His wrist really hurts.

“He just has a bad way of coping!” Sameer continues to defend Tyler but it’s falling on deaf ears. “It’s just a fucked situation okay, he wants to make things right.”

“So where is he,” Ashley asks. “Where is he trying to make things right. Oh wait!”

“Well, he doesn’t want to be around us if he thinks we all hate him. That makes sense…” Hayley frowns. “What do you think, Ricky?”

Patrick looks up from staring out of the window. “Huh? Oh. I wasn’t really paying attention, sorry.”

“ _You_ wanted to bring it up!” Ashley throws her hands up. “What the fuck is happening in this car right now!”

“Same,” Josh agrees with her. “Because you just gave me a lot of information and I’m fuckin’ _confuuuuuused_.”

“But you’re not supposed to know so you can’t tell Tyler we told you,” Sam quickly adds. “I’m such a shit friend.”

“I told him, not you,” Ashley says, with a frown of her own. “ _I’m_ the bad friend.”

“Neither of you are bad friends,” Hayley, ever the middleman, says. “We’re all gonna hug when we get out of the car and we’re gonna invite Tyler to the next hang session and we’re gonna sit Tyler and Josh down and then go into another room so that they can have an adult talk. Y’know, because we’re adults. Shocking, I know.”

“It’s just frustrating,” Ashley sighs. “That we just let him get away with it.”

“We’re not letting him get away with anything,” Sam says. “But we’re also not shunning him. Because that’s so… high school.”

Everyone in the car, including Patrick who hasn’t even been listening, shudders.

“I think he’s trying to make up with me, to be fair to him” Josh says. “He’s been leaving our GROUPLOVE hoodie for me instead of hogging it… and he slept with me last night when I had a nightmare… and not _slept with me_ slept with me, like… he just kinda crawled into my bed and helped calm me down…? And not in a sex way? Which is new.”

“And you thought he wasn’t in love with you,” Ashley genuinely asks. “Josh. You’re so dumb, I love you.”

“But that’s Tyler! We’re friends! Didn’t he used to do that with you, Sam?” Josh asks, and Sameer raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, that would be a no. That’s not what friends do.”

“Pete and Patrick used to do that,” Josh tries to say, and then everyone besides Patrick laughs, _including_ Josh. “Okay, nevermind. That was a really bad example.”

“Yo, Patrick,” Hayley shakes Patrick a little. “Are you okay? Lovestruck?”

That’s the thing—Patrick hasn’t been paying attention at all. His wrist has that familiar nails on chalkboard feeling, where everything is just the embodiment of uncomfortable, but there’s something new there too, that’s straight up painful.

“No, my wrist just. Really hurts,” Patrick says. “Sorry. It’s probably just my body rejecting… er. Pete. I feel like shit, but it’s fine, I’ll just take an Advil or something.”

“It’s so strange. Like, how bodies work like that,” Sam says. “Your brain knows that you’re seeing Pete so now it’s sending signals to your wrist that something out of the ordinary is happening. So fucking cool.”

A pause. “It’s not cool that you’re in pain, though. That sucks.”

Patrick attempts a laugh. “Heh. Yeah…”

“Wait, I have a question for Sam: _Can_ you drive any slower? The pizza is getting cold! You’re going like… forty miles an hour! You’re going the speed limit! Why!” Hayley complains and with that, the rest of whatever his friends are saying goes one hundred percent over Patrick’s head. Somewhere between Hayley and Sameer joke-fighting about Sam’s slow driving and getting back to the apartment, they picked up Jessica and stopped by a convenience store for Hot Cheetos.

“Hey,” Patrick says, once everyone’s out of the car and standing in the lobby. “I like... don’t know what the fuck is happening right now. I think I should just go to sleep.”

“What do you mean?” Ashley asks, her eyebrows pulled together as she stares at Patrick with concern. “You don’t look so good… is it still your wrist?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says. “I’m really confused? I don’t know why.”

“Do you want me to look?” Jess asks, the only one out of all of them with an educational backing when it comes to this kind of stuff, but Patrick shakes his head. “No, that’s okay. I think I’m just gonna go home, but thanks…”

“Aw, Ricky, we’ll save you a slice,” Ashley pouts, and she helps Patrick into the elevator since he’s legitimately stumbling. “And we’re sure you didn’t randomly get drunk on the way home, right? Because we could _totally_ whip up a Bloody Mary for you.”

“No thanks,” Patrick laughs. “I’ll be fine in the morning, I feel like it’s been worse than this. I dunno…”

“Call your _boyfriend_ over,” Hayley suggests, with a teasing smile. “He’ll kiss it better.”

A really dirty image of Pete from two nights ago kneeling in front of the couch and tracing the letters on Patrick’s wrist with his tongue comes to Patrick’s mind, and he shivers. That doesn’t sound like a horrible idea.

But when Patrick’s alone in his apartment, the last thing he wants to do is pick up the phone to call Pete. The only thing he wants to do, and the first thing that he does, is reach into his medicine cabinet and drink four Advil PMs dry.

With the little amount of energy he has left, he chucks his glasses onto a random spot in his bed, undoes the ribbon, and climbs underneath his comforters.

And then he falls asleep. 

* * *

And then he wakes up four hours later to a blinding pain in his wrist. Well, the blinding part might just be because he doesn’t have his glasses on. But _something_ feels entirely wrong.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Patrick murmurs under his breath, feeling around for his glasses and then for the light switch on his bedside lamp. “I swear to _God_ , why, why, _why_ did your name have to be—”

He looks down at his wrist with aided eyes and the lamp turned on, and he pales.

“Um,” he swallows hard after a moment. “Okay. That’s… okay.”

He silently reaches for his phone and presses the call button on Ashley’s contact.

“Mmmmm. Trixie Stump _why_ are you calling me at 3 o’clock in the damn morning? If you want your pizza, you’re gonna—”

“Do you think you can… come over,” he says, still watching his wrist. “I need confirmation that I’m not going crazy.”

“Huh?” she asks. “Dude, I sleep naked. You gotta give me six minutes.”

“Yeah, that’s fine, I just. Ashley, I think my— I’m gonna puke.”

“…Patrick, what’s wrong?”

The half-colored in **PETER LEWIS KINGSTON WENTZ III** on his wrist is what’s wrong.

“…his name is so _long_. And it hurts.” Patrick mumbles.

“ _Bruh_ ,” is what half-asleep Ashley’s response to this is.

And honestly, there isn’t another word that describes this any better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eccentric!trick made a cameo when patrick downed 4 advil pms. except eccentric!trick would have taken like 8 because he's developed a resistance to it 
> 
> so you know how sometimes if you read something for so long it just becomes kinda mushed up in your head?? that's this chapter to me. i literally dont know HOW to feel about it because its so?? strange in my head. like its kinda gibberish to me at this point. which i know isnt what like. i SHOULDNT say, i shouldnt end this like 'lmao how bad was THAT!!!' but. agh. its just one big question mark to me. hopefully i wont reread this chapter and cringe too bad once its out.
> 
> i know its been a Time since PTFW came out but what are your faves!!!! MINE IS DEFFFF "THE OVERPASS" like everything about [the overpass] is perfectttttttttttttt down to your blood type BUT LIKE THE 'GET BOOZY' PART IN OLD FASHIONED I ALMOST SCREAMED WHEN I FIRST HEARD IT!! i went to the PFTW date in uniondale and god brendon really :) fucking dhsjahjhdjsd DID THAT!!! i felt so bad abt writing him as a lil bitch in this afterwards bc all i could think abt was how good bden was live and how i would literally take 17 and a half bullets for him
> 
> updates might not be frequent (but when were they ever) because i have a job now (no its not nearly as fun as how i portray work environments in my fics) and school is gonna start back :( also i just dont really feel that confident in writing anymore and i know ill only be confident if i work harder but this summer has been so shitty to me and just *enter 935348394 excuses here* BASICALLY though i promise im gonna finish this fic because we're past the point of no return JDSJHDASD
> 
> finally - THANK U SO MUCH @ EVERYONE FOR READING !!! please leave a comment if you think i should stop revealing my life story in the end notes...or leave a comment abt the fic too!!! or dont, thats cool too


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im actually shaking w excitement jdjsfhsdjfhsf like my heart is beating so fast IM SO PUMPED TO POST THISSSSSS??? im sorry this update is so late fdkfjdskfjsdkf i have no excuse except im a full time student and a part time worker and sometimes a bitch be too tired! i hope the length of the chapter makes up for it even though HDGSFSDHFDF i feel like chapters that are shorter and more frequent are better but this whole chapter takes place in one day and the next one is another day so its just easier for me to organize it :'(
> 
>   _*** the third section of this chapter mentions transphobia and like. loads of self hatred fdshfjsfs we relate*** ___
> 
> _  
> _SO HERE'S WHAT YOU MISSED ON EAPOTATO! so we're in august now!! at the beginning of the chapter, pete n trick arent dating and theyre like 'hey... why arent we dating. we fuck like 45784 times in a week and youve ugly cried on my shoulder just 7 times TODAY!' BUT they dont make it official until the end of the chapter because gee aka mikey's sibling surprises pete @ work and theyre like PETE YOU DUMBASS YOU DESERVE TO BE HAPPY AND YOU AND PATRICK SEEM REALLY GOOD FOR EACH OTHER NOW WILL YOU PLEASE LET THIS HAPPEN FOR YOURSELF and pete actually... does? are good things actually HAPPENING for these two? eh... not quite because when patrick asks pete out, pete has to tell him the truth which is that he DOES genuinely like trick but he knows for a fact that his soulmate mark wont change from mikey's name to patricks name, nor does he want it to. YIKES ESPECIALLY BECAUSE PATRICKS MARK CHANGES FROM SHANE TO PETE'S AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER??? when will these mfs ever catch a break! meanwhile, things between tyler and the YTG friendship group just goes from bad to worse, and sameer asks everyone to please be civil tomorrow at band practice because no matter what, tylers part of their CHOSEN family and you cant?? kick people out of the chosen family IT DOESNT WORK LIKE THAT!! will things be okay with tyler and the group? will patrick tell pete about his mark changing? will MJ ever come back? lets find out on this chapter of EAPotato!_  
>  _

It’s been six and a half hours after Patrick’s soulmate mark changed and Patrick’s feeling… mostly exhausted.

“Dude, we have to stop hanging out so much. I think I have the exact dimensions of your face sketched out in the forefront of my mind and I would really like it to not be there anymore,” is what Hayley greets Sameer with as she and Patrick stand in the doorway to his house. She laughs when she says it and Sam laughs when he hears it but Patrick’s still in a very weird and hazy _got-no-fucking-sleep-have-no-energy-to-hang-out-with-my-friends-and-also-my-soulmate-mark-changed-to-my-boyfriend’s-name-which-should-be-good-but-it-makes-everything-so-much-more-complicated_ sort of mood… so, he’s silent during this interaction, save for the complimentary nod along.

“Yeah, I didn’t wanna be the one to say that you people are making me lose my goddamn mind but I guess you don’t share that same sentiment,” Sam jokes, letting Hayley and Patrick into his home, where Josh already is. Sam’s place used to be so strange and foreign to Patrick, but now it’s a place where he can find himself melting into. He knows to take off his shoes and where not to sit on the couch because that’s the cat’s spot, and he knows that the scent of dark roast coffee is always etched into the throw pillows because Sam makes his coffee strong enough that the neighbors can smell it.

Speaking of the throw pillows, though– Patrick naturally gravitates to one of them, the one next to Josh, and he rests his head on it, effectively throwing his body over Josh’s in the process.

“ _Someone_ had to do it,” Hayley argues, and when she goes to gently throw her guitar on the couch and to grab a mug of too-strong coffee, she squints her eyes at the sight in front of her. “Trix, you good?”

Josh blinks down at the body on top of his. Patrick just moans tiredly into the side of the pillow. “Need… need another hour of sleep. Josh is warm.”

“Strangely enough, you’re not the first person to tell me that…?” Josh says. “That my body is super hot. Temperature wise. Not the other, uh, not the other kind of hot.”

“Shut up, you’re definitely the other kind of hot,” Hayley says, as she plops down on the other side of the two of them, on the floor. She reaches for Josh’s hand and she presses it to her face. “Oh fuck, dude, you’re right, you’re like a furnace.”

Sam sits down opposite of Hayley, reaches for Josh’s other hand and does the same. “He really is…”

“Guys, I have… like, something to tell you,” Patrick says, still a little sleepy so he slurs on some words. “Now that we’re in one place.”

“And overwhelming the shit out of me…” Josh trails off, though it’s with a smile. “Kidding, this is fun.”

“That’s what I mean! Kinda! I mean… I mean, I feel so comfortable with you guys. It’s like you guys are extensions of myself…” Patrick says, and then he flips so that he’s lying with his face to the ceiling instead of the other way around. “I never thought I’d be so… open with people like this, you know?”

“Wait, you're telling them _the thing?"_ Hayley asks Patrick, before she turns to Josh and Sam. "This shit is  _insane_ , I’m still in shock.”

“She already knows?! No fair.” Josh says. “But go on.”

“She already knows because she was there,” Patrick explains. “She and Ashley came over at like… four o’clock this morning. For this.”

He’s wearing the black ribbon around his wrist, which only makes the reveal all the more dramatic. It comes off, smooth as room-temperature butter, and flutters to the floor and underneath it is Pete’s whole 26 character name, stitched onto his skin like a tattoo that’s already been fully healed. “Ta-daaaaaaa….”

“Oh shit,” Sam says, letting go of Josh’s hand to reach for Patrick’s. “Oh…  _what the fuck_.”

“Guys, you should have seen it changing. It was so fucking cool, even though it was kinda trippy,” Hayley gushes. “You know when you can see a baby’s foot poking behind a pregnant—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, that’s gonna make me fuckin’ nauseous,” Josh says. “But Patrick, dude. This is kind of a miracle… you realize that, right?”

“I do,” Patrick says. “I do. I just—guys. Guys. What the fuck am I gonna do? I feel like this is… so much more than Pete and I.”

“It’s the whole universe,” Sam says, still staring at the mark in awe. “Your love is that strong. Holy shit.”

“What do you think happened to Pete?” Josh asks. “Do you think—”

“No,” Patrick swallows hard. “That’s the—that’s what fucking me up because I know he would have called someone if it did. Not me, but he would have called  _someone_. So that means that I’m just… here. With his name on my wrist. And Shane’s name gone which is, which is fucking amazing, but now I’m just— guys, that’s Pete’s  _fucking name._ On me…?!”

“Yeah, but Trix, you’re glossing over the fact that Shane’s name isn’t there anymore,” Sam says. “Just, just forget about Pete for a second. Don’t let him distract you from the fact that Shane’s name isn’t on you anymore. There’s nothing linking you to him anymore, that’s  _amazing_.”

“Besides all of my fucked up memories,” Patrick grumbles, before Sam lets out an exasperated sigh. “Well,  _yeah_ , but you’re not—okay, maybe I just don’t understand.”

But Patrick knows that Sam has a point- it’s just hard to see that point when it’s being clouded over by every horrible possibility of Pete  _ever_ finding out.  He thinks back to the  _fucking night before, Jesus Christ,_ of Pete admitting to Patrick that he didn’t think that his mark would change, that he didn’t want it to change, and then, what? Three hours later, it happens?

Ironically, it seems like a sign to  _stop_ messing around with Pete.

…except they’re not just fooling around anymore.

“Get out of your head, I can see you worrying,” Hayley says to him, gently shoving at his arm. “And you know what we’re not gonna do? That.”

“It’s not a group effort,” Patrick says back, and he brings a hand to his forehead. “God. How did, how did—am I really that  _easy_ that I ask someone out and then my body decides that we’re gonna be together forever?”

“I don’t know if it’s only about Pete,” Josh says. “I don’t know, I’m going into one of my weird stoner theories.”

“When  _aren’t_ you going into one of your weird stoner theories,” Sam asks, grinning as Josh swats at his face. “Shut up, it’s only when I watch a bunch of X Files episodes. Anyway—and I’m prefacing this with the fact that I’m looking for answers too. But… I don’t know if your mark changing is about Pete more than it is about you? I mean, I mean it  _is_ about Pete, duh, his name is on—but I think you’re like…a new person. So you got a new name because you’re not the same person that you were before…? I don’t know, I’m being stupid.”

“You’re not being stupid,” Patrick says to him. “Keep going!”

Josh looks a little skeptical, but he keeps going. “I mean, my first impression of you was that you were constantly on the verge of breaking down.”

“I’m still like that,” Patrick says with a frown, but Josh shakes his head. “Nah, dude, you totally aren’t. You’re way stronger than when we met you back in… what was it? March? Like, example. March-Patrick wouldn’t have thrown himself on top of me without asking first. No, March-Patrick wouldn’t have even asked, you would have just sat on the far side of the couch. August-Patrick is like,  _‘No, fuck that, I’m tired and Josh is warm and I’m gonna take a nap on him.’_ ”

Patrick cracks a smile when Sam and Hayley both laugh, and Josh continues. “I mean, I don’t wanna take the credit for being the reason but I feel like you’re… doing stuff that’s so out-of-character for March-Patrick. And dude, I don’t know what you were like when you were with… you know.  _Him_. But from what you told us, you’re so much more confident now.”

A beat. “Uh, even though you’re dealing with me and Tyler being psychos.”

And then he continues. “ _You_ asked Pete out yesterday, not the other way around. That’s why I think that was the thing, the final push, you know? That was you saying that you weren’t Shane’s anymore. Not that, not that you  _were_ his before you asked Pete out, but it’s like… the straw that broke the camel’s back kinda stuff, you know, and—”

“Guys… March-Patrick wouldn’t have topped,” Sameer interrupts Josh suddenly, and Patrick chokes over thin air as all of his friends burst into laughter once again.

“Oh my God, shut up, it’s not that big of a deal!” Patrick says, but his face  _absolutely_ burns with embarrassment.

“He’s turning  _red_ ,” Hayley laughs, leaning into the couch so that her head is resting over Patrick’s chest. “Stop, March-Patrick wouldn’t have even thought of that.”

“You’re not wrong but  _ohmygodcanwechangethefuckingsubject_ ,” Patrick shrieks, and in a few moments, his friends calm down enough for Josh to keep going on his stoner rant. “But dude, that’s what I’m fucking saying, you’re a new person now.  _No_ , I feel like you’re the same you, but last night, all of those shitty layers that you built up to protect yourself from your asshole of an ex-soulmate peeled away and with that, his name went away too. And I don’t think that was all Pete’s doing, that was all you. Because you dared to do all of the things, step out of your comfort zone, that kinda thing.”

Patrick stares at him for a moment, left with no words since he doesn’t know how to express his gratitude to Josh for saying all of that.

“Anyways, it’s just a theory…” Josh trails off. “But the long story short is––your mark changing isn’t about Pete, it’s about you. Anyway, I’m done now. I’m getting some coffee, can you get up for a second?”

“Josh, wait… thank you for that,” Patrick says and when Josh tries to brush it off, Patrick pushes. “No, really, dude, thank you. I feel like that put a… really fucking positive spin on everything. I didn’t think about it like that, not even for a second. I just thought it was, you know, the universe just trying to fuck with me.”

“You’re too good of a person for that,” Josh says. “Seriously, if anyone deserves to have a second chance at this, it’s you.”

“I second that,” Sam says, and Hayley chimes in with a “I third that! …is that a thing?”

“Oh, and then Tyler and I are right after you on that hypothetical list,” Josh adds, but it’s a light-hearted joke more than anything. “But I might be a little biased.”

“Where the fuck  _is_ he, Patrick said he probably was gonna show up,” Hayley asks, and Josh shrugs. “Maybe Sam can try summoning him, I don't really give a fuck...”

“I don’t  _summon_ Tyler, I—” Sameer begins to say, but then the front door swings open and  _no one_ has to guess who it is.

“Hi…” Tyler says, inviting himself in. He’s wearing his* (*Patrick still doesn’t know who the rightful owner of that hoodie is, so it might not even be his) GROUPLOVE hoodie and he’s carrying a box of donuts. “What’re you guys doing, why is everyone on the couch?”

He and Patrick lock eyes for a moment and Patrick gives him a subtle smile, happy that he decided to show up. Tyler gives him a shrug back.

“You guys have to have that timed,” Hayley says, looking between Sam and Tyler. “That’s fucked up.”

“Ash isn’t here?” Tyler asks, looking around the room as he steps out of his sneakers, and Hayley shakes her head.

“She’s opening with Emj,” she explains, and no one misses the way that the tension in Tyler’s body relaxes once she says that. “Oh… cool. Can I join whatever weird clothed orgy this is?”

“You’re annoying,” Sam says to him, but his tone is so warm that it melts Patrick’s heart. Tyler rolls his eyes and sits next to him on the floor, placing the open box of donuts on the floor so everyone can grab one. “Been told that once or twice.”

He and Josh haven’t looked directly at each other once and everyone knows it. The level of  _fucking awkward_ in the room accelerates and Patrick feels like he could choke on how dense the air feels.

He just grabs a jelly-filled donut instead though.

“T-Y Ty.”

“… _Ew_.”

“To what? The nickname or the donut choice?”

“Both. Definitely both.”

Another awkward pause.

“So… I’m gonna get my coffee,” Josh says, just to fill the spaces. “Patrick, can you…?”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” Patrick says, pulling himself off of Josh enough for him to be able to get up. And the living room has gotten so quiet since no one knows the right words to break the tension that, when Josh walks, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet sound a billion times louder than it should. Hayley winces with every step, Sam buries his head in his hands, and Patrick tries to hide his anxious laughter by continuing to eat his donut. And  _once_  Josh is finally in the kitchen, Tyler lets out a deep breath. “Oh God, I’m fucked. This is so bad. That was the worst 20 seconds of my life.”

“It was really bad,” Sam confirms. “Why don’t we go, you guys can sit here and work out your stuff,  _don’t fuck anywhere in my house_ , and then we’ll come back.”

“When have we ever fucked in your house?” Tyler asks. “Blowjobs don’t count.”

“Blowjobs count,” Sam says. “And I can’t believe you didn’t lock the door behind you.”

“It was hot, I was distracted, it was in the moment,” Tyler crosses his arms. “You’re just jealous no one was deep throating  _your_ purple strap-on.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hayley slaps her hand to her forehead. “Purple?”

“It’s the unofficial official sex toy color,” Tyler says. “What other color would you have wanted my dick to be?  _Nude_?”

“I thought the unofficial official color was hot pink,” Sam frowns. “No,  _sparkly_  hot pink.”

“It could be sparkly hot pink,” Tyler considers. “Yeah, pink could work. But purple is just sexy. Why, is Jess’s strap sparkly and hot pink? That’s hot.”

Sam calmly takes a sip from his coffee. “Yeah.”

“I hate this conversation,” Hayley says. “But for the record, I think a good color is sky blue. _Mine_ is blue. Ashley’s is black, but she’s just kinky like that.”

“But _again_ ,” Tyler stresses, “purple is hotter than all of those colors.”

“ _Okay_ , March-Patrick _would not_ be witness to a conversation where his friends talked about the color of their dildos,” Patrick interrupts them. “And August-Patrick _does not_ want to be witness to a conversation where his friends talk about the color of their dildos. So can we _please_ —”

“Hey, what the fuck is _that_ ,” Tyler asks, pointing to Pete’s name on Patrick’s wrist.

At the same time, Josh comes back into the room. A shitstorm is brewing, and it’s brewing _fast._

“Um,” Patrick says, letting his body fall forward a little as Tyler grabs his wrist to look at it closer. “Yeah. It happened last night.”

And the thing about Tyler is that he’s a jealous person. Patrick is well aware of this fact.

Tyler is silent as he inspects Pete’s name, and everyone in the room is quiet too, like they don’t want to startle him. Like Tyler’s a wild animal and if they do anything to disrupt him, he’s going to lash out at them.

“I told you it was gonna happen,” Tyler tells him. Bright green envy is in his eyes when he looks up.

“I didn’t think it was going to,” Patrick replies, pulling his hand back from Tyler’s grasp.

“But it did, which is what’s important,” Tyler says. “So, congratulations.”

“Oh, thanks…”

Patrick bites the inside of his cheek.

And he expects it when Tyler gets up to leave.

“I need to smoke so. Uh. I’m gonna go outside and… do that.”

And this should be the part where everyone lets him go outside to do that, the part where Sam eventually gets up and follows him outside and they talk about it separately, the part where Tyler goes home and no one hears back from him until the next couple of days and they pretend like nothing happened.

This shouldn’t be the part where Josh actually calls Tyler out on his bullshit.

“Are you serious?” Josh asks. “Are you fucking for real right now?”

Tyler looks at him, stunned.

Patrick looks at both of them, miserable.

“Can’t you, like. _Pretend_ to give a fuck? Just pretend. Literally just pretend,” Josh says, and his voice is calm, but his hands are shaky, so much so that some coffee splashes out of his mug and onto the carpet—Sam looks at the spot on the floor and winces.

“If you can’t be happy that this amazing thing happened for our friend, just fucking pretend,” Josh tells him. “It’s the least you can do.”

“I’ve done my fair share of pretending,” Tyler says to him. “I pretended for sixteen years of my fucking life, so don’t tell me about _pretending_. I’m not going to sit here and, and act like I’m _happy_ when I’m not happy. And Patrick,” He turns to look at Patrick, and Patrick shrinks back into his spot on the couch. “I’m really sorry that I’m not happy for you, but I’m not going to do a disservice to you and pretend like I am.”

“ _Jesus Christ,_ dude,” Hayley says. “You can’t say shit like that.”

“Why not?” Tyler asks. “It’s how I feel. I’m not going to apologize for it. And I was getting up to leave just so I _wouldn’t_ have to say it but Josh decided to make it a problem, so. There.”

“Wait, you’re not blaming this on me, right?” Josh asks. “Because this is all on you. Trust me. Maybe if you could, I don’t know, stop thinking about yourself for two seconds, just _two fucking seconds_ , then—”

“Can you guys just chill,” Sam asks, and there’s a wave of authority in his voice that stops Josh in his tracks. “We’re not ruining Patrick’s day with this shit, and we’re not ruining my day and Hayley’s day with this shit either.”

Hayley weakly waves at the two of them from her spot on the floor.

“ _You_ wanted us to work through our problems,” Tyler says, pointing an accusatory finger at Sam, his _best friend_ , the person that he’s not supposed to turn on. “So, here you go. This is us working our shit out.”

He turns back to Josh and says in a voice dripping with bitterness, “Why don’t you call Sam selfish for thinking about himself and his day, huh?”

“Hey,” Sam says, anger lining his voice, something that Patrick hasn’t seen _ever._ “Hold up. When I suggested you guys work out your stupid fucking drama, I meant to calmly sit down like adults. Not to do this. And I didn’t mean to make Patrick feel like shit either. So don’t stand there and put words in my mouth. Thank you.”

“You guys really—you guys know my fucking story,” Tyler looks at everyone in the room, and even though Patrick actually doesn’t know Tyler’s past, he has easily piece elements of it together. “You know the shit that I’ve been through, you guys know that this is—you know that I wouldn’t purposefully—nevermind. Fuck it.”

He starts heading for the door. “I’m not gonna ruin anyone’s days more than I already have.”

“So you’re gonna run away from this,” Josh asks. “Cool.”

Patrick groans and shoves his face back into the throw pillows.

“Dude, I can’t fucking handle you right now, so yeah, I’m walking away from it,” Tyler says, his voice rising. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Josh says. “What I _wish_ is for you to just take one fucking step back and think about someone else.”

“Well don’t fucking phrase it like that, like, like it’s so _easy_ for me to do,” Tyler yells, and Patrick’s not watching this interaction, but he can _hear_ the struggle in Tyler’s voice too. “ _God_ , I’m not trying to be selfish, I don’t want to be like this, but I am, and I’m trying to control it, okay, and I’m not, I’m not a bad person for that, so fuck you for insinuating that.”

“ _You’re_ not a bad person,” Josh says. “It just fucking sucks that—”

“That what? That I’m not doing what you want? Well, sorry I’m not built like that,” Tyler says, the anger in his voice still apparent but it’s clear that his grip on not crying steadily falling.

“You say that you’re trying, but you’re not. _That’s_ what fucking sucks.”

It gets quiet again. Hayley gives Patrick a worrisome glance.

“So, I’m gonna go!” Tyler says, pretending to be goddamn cheerful. “If someone comes after me, I _will_ put my cigarette out on you.”

“So _now_ you’re threatening us,” Josh says. “Awesome.”

There’s another pause, wherein Patrick can practically hear the internal struggle going on in Tyler’s head, but before Tyler can reply to that, he leaves and the door slams shut.

“Fuck,” Josh says, turning back to Sam. “I’m shaking. Dude, I’m fucking shaking right now.”

“I can see that,” Sam points to the puddle of coffee sitting in his carpet.

“I’m _shaking_ ,” he repeats, totally ignoring the stain. “What the fuck did I just _do_.”

“That,” Hayley says. She’s still a little stunned too. “You just did _that_.”

“Guys, I feel bad,” Patrick says. “I feel really bad. Like, for Tyler.”

“Don’t” Sam says, which is surprising because it’s _Sam_. “That was kind of ridiculous.”

“How can you say that?” Patrick asks. “That was rough. Like, I know that Tyler totally fucked me over in terms of support, but that was _rough_.”

“It was ridiculous because—Josh, for _fucks sake,_ give Patrick your coffee and sit on the couch because Jess is going to kill me if I can’t get that stain out of the carpet—it was ridiculous because he should know that he should set his own shit aside and be happy for you. And not pretend to be happy. He should _be_ happy, because friends feel happy for each other when good things happen for them. That’s the point. And even if he wasn’t happy, because okay, I know that it’s hard for him to feel that sometimes, he shouldn’t have—Trix, he acted like it was your fault that his mark hasn’t changed. That’s bullshit.”

“But I know that it’s hard for him,” Josh says, now back on the couch. “The happiness thing. That’s not his fault.”

“It’s not his fault, you’re right,” Sam says. “But he shouldn’t have taken it out on Patrick like that. That was the point actually, I take the other one back.”

“Can we stop talking about this,” Patrick interrupts the conversation before it gets too heated again, before it can get even more unpleasant in the room than it already is. “I brought my guitar and I have a new idea. I’ll talk to Tyler later.”

And he actually plans on doing that. Because he knows Tyler, knows he’s a good person, knows why he’s struggling with seeing Patrick’s name change that easily when he’s been waiting for that moment for years.

August-Patrick can understand that his friends are complex people that occasionally fuck up. March-Patrick would have probably had a breakdown and would have believed that it was all his fault.

Josh maybe had a valid point before, about him evolving into a better and more understanding version of himself.

“You sure?” Sam asks. “I have a lot of ranting in me that can come out if you’d like to rant some more.”

Patrick shakes his head. “I’ve had my fair share of negativity today. I’m over it.”

And with that, the band (minus Tyler) begins working on their song ideas.

* * *

Pete frowns as he presses the backspace bar on his computer.

 **i get bright ideas in dark rooms / full of love so much that my teeth are floating / an overdose of dopamine—caught forever in the sunshine riptide / i am so in love with YOU / and the idea of YOU listening to the poems and hearing the words /  i know its weird but i like to imagine what you are thinking when you hear it / if it weren’t for that i am not sure where i would turn /** **~~i want to find a new world with you in hand~~ / this has been the summer of my life… ** **/ life is better when youre around** . **–p**

He’s half-tempted to type that line back again, everything alluding to a future together, and to fuck logic and reason, because he wants to see Patrick’s face when he reads the message on top of the bed of roses he’s ordering at the moment, he wants to be on the reciprocating end of the inevitable kiss that Patrick would give him, something so full of love that he would feel everywhere, deep in his bones and in the strings in his muscles, but…

But it’s a little out there. So, he leaves it out.

Still, though. He’s a man head over heels in love. With exceptions. The first one being that he doesn’t want his dead husband’s name off of him.

He rubs at his slightly sore soulmate mark as he rereads his message one more time, scanning for a typo or an accidental _‘let’s get married && have 2.5 kids xoxo petey’ _ , but before he can press the **Next Step!** button on the website, there’s an incoming call on the work phone—Gabe’s extension, so it’s either an angry customer or someone calling out.

“Hi! This is Pete speaking, how can I—” “Sup bitchboy Wentz.”

Pete groans. It’s the latter.

“Hey Tyler,” Pete says, clicking on the **Next Step!** button— he know this call is not going to be important. “What are you not going to help me with today?”

“Uh… so, here’s the thing… everything? I mean to say that I can't help you with anything because I'm. Uh. Calling out...” Tyler says tentatively, and Pete groans _again_. “Tyler, are you being serious right now? I _need_ you here today. You can’t even come in late?”

“I don’t think so,” Tyler says. “I feel, like. _Shitty_. All over. They all hate me.”

“They don’t all hate you,” Pete says, pulling out his therapist voice, the voice that everyone hates. “I’ll talk to Trix later about it if you want? The world's biggest peacemaker. The world's hottest peacemaker... sorry, I'm getting off track.”

“No, it’s _about_ him, I don’t wanna… I don’t know. I just feel sick, like I’m gonna come in and they’re gonna throw tomatoes at me. And call me ugly and a fraud of a human being. And then say that they hate me. And then _Sam’s_ gonna say that he never actually liked having me around and he’s sorry that he helped me out all of those—okay, I’m gonna start crying again, so I’m gonna... stop.”

Pete raises his eyebrows, and says the first thing on his mind. “You and Trix fought?”

“Wow, Pete, what a fucking great therapist you are!” Tyler yells at him, and Pete winces. “Okay, okay, sorry, I was just caught by surprise for a second. Can I make it up to you? I’m not mad you’re not coming in. There. We good again?”

Tyler sighs a breath of relief. “Pete. I love you, man. Seriously. I promise, I'll make my hours up later and close with you or something. And you know I hate closing.”

“I know you hate closing,” Pete confirms, a gentle smile on his face. “And um. Hey. I’m being serious when I say that no one hates you.”  
  
“Not sure about that one, chief,” Tyler mumbles. “Whatever.”  
  
“No, come on, don’t do that,” Pete pushes. “No one hates you, especially not me. If… if you need someone to stay with you, keep your mind off anything, I can leave for an hour or two. I’ll sneak out some pancakes.”

“Aw, thanks Pete,” Tyler yawns over the other side of the phone. “But I think I’m gonna just… sleep this off. Thanks again, dude.”

They say their goodbyes after that, and then Tyler hangs up. And Pete sits at his desk in silence, running his hands over his face and through his hair as he racks his brain for someone to cover Tyler’s shift, before he stops in his tracks. _Tyler and Patrick are fighting._

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” he says out loud to himself. “It’s _Patrick.”_

Which would be a weak argument except it’s totally not—Patrick’s the world’s hottest peacemaker* (*Pete’s words), he’s not… like, the world’s hottest _shitstirrer_.

And as Pete thinks of exactly what could have gone down between Patrick and Tyler that they would have had a disagreement about, he quickly falls headfirst into just thoughts of Patrick in general. That’s how these things go, but it’s still funny to resurface from a one minute thought-tangent where he’s just replaying different scenarios of making Patrick smile and to think _where the fuck was I going with that again?_ The feeling of that, of pining so deeply for someone, is very unfamiliar. Pete’s more than happy to be able to experience it again and he tries not to feel guilty about it.

And that’s the thing…? He doesn’t have to try that hard.

Or, _at all_.

As of now, loving Patrick feels as calm as the night summer breeze. Walking through the streets beneath Chicago’s skyscrapers with his family and laughing about, _wow, Bandit, I can’t believe you signed yourself up for art camp, that’s my fu—freaking goddaughter! I have never said a bad word, ever, in my life!_ Talking about the person that he’s, beneath all of the bullshit, in fucking love with, with the people that he loves, is so freeing.

He knows the feeling won’t last, the freeness of it all, because his feelings never do, but this is. _Good_. This is good. This is really good and it’s scary and it’s amazing and he’s in love.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Pete says to himself, breathless, to no one but himself. Still in shock, that this is happening to him with someone like Patrick. Someone who is more than fully aware of how fucked up Pete is, yet he’s still standing there with open arms. _Which is why,_ and he’s going back to the point here because this has been a very long ‘God-Patrick-Is-Amazing’ tangent, _this Tyler thing is so confusing_ —because why would Patrick pick a fight with Tyler when Pete is way more irritating and annoying?

He decides to just ask Patrick about it.

“Pete!” Patrick shrieks when Pete wraps his arms around Patrick from behind and buries his face in his neck. “You’re fucking lucky I’m not holding anything sharp, I don’t like being surprised like that!”

But he doesn’t push away from Pete’s touch—he does the opposite and melts into it. He lets himself get embraced and he leans back against Pete’s body when Pete smiles against his skin. “Hey, Angel.”

“ _Hi_ ,” Patrick huffs out, faking his anger. “What do you need?”

“Missed you,” Pete whispers, still speaking against Patrick’s neck. Patrick’s hair smells so good, _Patrick_ smells so good. Pete closes his eyes and lets himself feel this moment for a second. “I think our friends are pretending like they aren’t staring at us.”

“I can see them too, y’know,” Patrick replies, bringing a hand up to wave at Ashley, who’s pretending to puke at the sight in front of her. “Your stubble is scratching me but I feel conflicted because I like it and it’s turning me on.”

Pete laughs. “I think I have a rule against having sex in the kitchen?”

“There are people here. And I’m not an exhibitionist, unlike _one_ of us,” Patrick says, and he turns around so that they’re facing each other. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Pete repeats. He holds Patrick’s wrist with the soulmate mark on it in his hand and when he rubs his thumb over the ribbon, Patrick looks at him with a dreamy expression. “ _Hey_.”

“What’s up?” Pete asks, intertwining their fingers. “Your best friend called out.”

Patrick frowns, but it’s not the kind of frown that Pete associates guilt&Patrick with. It’s like a sad&Patrick kind of frown. “Oh. Shit.”

“Did anything happen?” Pete asks. “He said something about you, but—”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, and oh yeah, there’s the guilty look that Pete knows. “It was—I mean, it’s not… he was upset about something that happened…last night. Sam and Josh both snapped at him this morning, he yelled back, and the whole thing was done in a minute, I didn’t know he was going to _call out_ … maybe I should see him when I get off…”

“What happened last night?” Pete asks, and Patrick gives him a dubious look. “Um… it’s about us.”

“Us?” Pete asks again. Patrick’s guilty look deepens. “Yeah.”

“But what _about_ —” “I don’t know! I don’t—I don’t know, maybe because we’re _dating now_ and it’s like, _a thing_ , and you know how the situation between him and Josh is fucked up, and I told him today about… er, _us_ , and then he got upset and Josh called him out for not being happy for me. That’s it.”

“Oh,” Pete says. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, fidgeting a little. He pulls his wrist from Pete’s hand. “But I’m gonna—did he sound really upset? I feel bad.”

“A little,” Pete lies. Tyler was really upset. “But don’t, don’t feel horrible, okay? I’m so happy that you’re happy. I’m _happy_ about us. I want you to be happy about us too.”

“I am,” Patrick stresses. “I mean, I mean I know I’m not beaming from ear to ear right now but I _am_ happy. Happier than I’ve felt in a long time, I feel it everywhere in my body. _Honestly_. I just feel bad about Tyler calling out. But it’s fine.”

Patrick offers Pete a good-enough smile. “I promise.”

But Pete can see right through that smile—he’s a master at them himself. “Trix…” he begins to say, but Patrick shakes his head. “It’s fine. I just, maybe if I talk to Tyler, I’ll be okay again.”

“Maybe we can do something to get your mind off of it,” Pete suggests.

Patrick quickly scans his surroundings before he leans in and whispers, “Pete. I thought I made it clear that I’m not having sex in your kitchen!”

“I wasn’t even—I wasn’t even thinking about that!” Pete sputters. “But even if I was, I wouldn’t—the pantry is what I would suggest. If you’re. Um. _Oh my God_. Because you keep alluding to _me_ being the overtly sexual one but now you’re saying—”

“Shut up,” Patrick tells him, his face burning red. “I’m… I’m _August-Patrick_. I’m not opposed to. Uh. Food pantry sex.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be _sex_ sex,” Pete says. “I’m not, er, _ready_. I was gonna wait to do the whole ordeal for tonight because—wait, you’re coming over tonight, right?”

“That was the plan, wasn’t it? And—are we seriously talking about this right now?” Patrick asks, still looking around to make sure no one is eavesdropping.                                                   

Pete shrugs. “You’re the one that brought up _sex_ to make you feel better while being sad about _our friend._ Freak.”

He says the word ‘freak’ lovingly and with a grin, so it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when Patrick cracks a grin himself and pulls Pete in by his shirt collar to kiss him. Pete smiles into it because _duh_ , it’s Patrick, and he asks when Patrick pulls away from their kiss, “Hopefully you weren’t just thinking of Tyler?”

“I was not,” Patrick tells him, a sparkle in his eyes.  

“Hey!” Hayley yells at them from the other side of the space. “I totally saw that and I just want to say, from the bottom of my heart, _no making out in the kitchen.”_

“You can’t use my rule against me!” Pete yells back at her, but then he turns back to Patrick. “How many minutes do your cupcakes have?”

“Eleven,” Patrick answers.

“Let’s go,” Pete says, grabbing onto Patrick’s wrist.

In terms of _gross_ , this isn’t much better than the kitchen. But there’s a lock on the door _(“How convenient… hurry up, kiss me.”_ ) and the closet space is narrow enough that they’re pressed up right against each other, and it’s pitch black once the door is closed. The kind of environment that breeds bad behavior.

“ _Pete_ ,” Patrick whines, knocking his head back against cupboards filled with dry ingredients. “Pete, fuck, be gentle, it’s sore.”

He’s talking about his wrist.

Pete’s blindly working the black ribbon off with one hand, and with the other, he cups Patrick’s jaw to bring him closer, to kiss him harder. And the choked off sound that Patrick makes when Pete’s fingers meet his bare skin is about the hottest thing that Pete’s ever heard in his life.

“What happened?” Pete asks, pressing in a little harder when Patrick nods his approval, but Patrick doesn’t reply, just kisses him with more fervor until they’re doing nothing but breathing in each other’s moans and grinding helplessly against each other. So much for slow and savory.

“I’ve been thinking,” Pete says, his voice already completely fucked even though he hasn’t gone anywhere near Patrick’s dick yet. “About tonight.”

“What about— _ohGodPeteFuck_ —what about tonight?” Patrick can hardly get his sentence out.

And Pete’s done a lot of things to Patrick’s soulmate mark but he’s never seen him get so worked up over firm circles rubbed over it like this before. Patrick’s hands are all over Pete, like he’s reaching for him even though he’s already there.

“I’ve been thinking about how badly I want you to fuck me up,” Pete says, and he’s definitely the one in charge here, as he works his thumb over Patrick’s soulmate mark, as he holds Patrick up with the other hand since Patrick’s slowly losing his balance because of the pleasure, as he speaks in a low voice over the soft keening sounds that Patrick is making, but the words that he’s saying are beyond the opposite of the dominance he’s asserting. “God, Trix, I’m all yours, I’ve been thinking about it all night and about your fingers inside of me, right, and, and you have me blindfolded with your ribbon so I can’t see what you’re going to do next, but I trust you so much, _Iloveyousomuch_ , and you’re speaking in my ear and telling me how fucking, fucking pathetic I look, and—”

“I don’t know if pathetic is the— _fuck me,_ is the word I would use, but—”

“And you have me on my knees and we’re warm from taking a bath and I’m like drooling all over the place, you’ve got me panting like a bitch in heat, and—”

“Woah, strong words there.”

“ _And_ —you’re making this so difficult.”

“You’re making this so _hard_ for me too,” Patrick says, and then he starts laughing. “Sorry, sorry, that was dumb. Go back to your fantasy, I’m all ears.”

And so they resume—there’s still a smile in Pete’s voice as he continues. They’re still pressed up against each other, rubbing off on each other, but Pete’s hand moves so that he’s not cradling Patrick’s wrist. He’s working the button on Patrick’s jeans. “And you’re making me beg for it. And I _am_ , I’m blindly looking for you and twisting around all while fucking myself on your fingers because you aren’t doing any of the work, you’re just kissing my shoulders and beneath my ear and you, and you eventually let go of me and my legs are spread for you, _I love you_ , and you tell me, you tell me how much you love me too.”

“I love you,” Patrick says, as Pete spits into his hand and wraps it around Patrick’s dick. “Fuck, and I’m not just saying it because—because of _this_. I love you.”

Pete’s face is buried in Patrick’s neck—his new favorite place to be. They’re in a fucking food pantry and he’s got Patrick’s cock in his hand and he can’t even see his face, but Pete feels it in Patrick’s voice, feels it in the way that Patrick breathes, he feels it so intensely that it almost knocks him off his feet.

He can’t cry about food pantry sex. Especially when it’s just a shitty handjob. Especially when it’s in _the pantry_. But he wants to.

“Are you gonna finish the, the story?” Patrick asks, his fingernails digging roughly into Pete’s face from where he’s holding him. They’re kissing again.

“You’re gonna finish it for me, tonight,” Pete tells him. Patrick’s close, he can tell from the way that he’s holding onto him. So, he drops to his knees. It’s uncomfortable as hell, he doesn’t have to even try and tease Patrick because his face is already in pubic hair without even trying, but he’s not necessarily in the business of teasing right now. Patrick’s hands in his hair urge him on, and he wraps his mouth around half of Patrick’s cock just as Patrick comes. Patrick’s thankfully _thankfully_ not loud, he comes down Pete’s throat with a soft groan, with his fingers buried in gelled down and straightened curls and Pete laps greedily at the tip of his dick until Patrick pushes him away breathlessly.

Pete stands back up and tries to recollect himself, tries to ignore the _very there_ boner in his pants. But between the salty taste in his mouth and the images burning into his mind, it’s hard to pretend that it’s not there, that he’s not incredibly turned on.

“Move,” Patrick whisper-yells to him. “Let me do my thing.”

“What thing?” Pete asks.

“My _thing_ ,” Patrick answers without really answering.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pete fakes his ignorance—he knows what Patrick’s talking about, but he wants to explain why he’s not asking for it.

“ _Peter_. We’re two millimeters away from each other. I can feel your dick pressed against my thigh,” Patrick says in plain English. “So move and let me _do my thing_.”

“What if I don’t… want you to do your thing? What if you just make me wait for it,” Pete suggests.

Patrick inhales sharply. “ _Oh_.”

Patrick cups Pete through his pants. “You sure?” he asks, innocent enough, but fuck, Pete knows that he’s doing it on purpose. Patrick moves in and Pete thinks it’s a kiss, but Patrick leaves him hanging. He kisses by Pete’s ear and says in a low voice, “You seem pretty into it right now.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Pete squeezes his eyes shut, tries not grind against the pressure.

But Patrick does it for him—he presses his hand in a little harder and grinds the heel of it down. “Are you _positive_? Because—wait, timeout, let me know if I’m too close to the line, consent wise.”

“What? No, no, this is fun, keep going,” Pete assures him, before he goes back to succumbing to the movements of Patrick’s hand. “ _Fuck_ , Trix. _Please_ , I wanna wait for tonight.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, letting go suddenly. “Yeah, that’s so like you. It’s kind of… _pathetic_.”

Pete’s dizzy with want, the want to drop back down to his knees and do something. But it’s not too overpowering, it’s easy enough to push past it. So, he grins when Patrick kisses him again. “Hell yeah, it fucking is. I was being serious when I said I wanted you to _fuck me up_.”

“And I plan on doing that,” Patrick tells him, and Pete can hear the easy smile in his voice. “I have all of the details stored. And now you have _me_ waiting. So I think we both kinda fucked each other over in that aspect.”

“You’re the one that got an orgasm out of it,” Pete argues.

Patrick laughs. “Yeah. Maybe. Here, help me find this ribbon? The cupcakes are gonna go off in—”

The oven timer goes off.

“—now.” Patrick says. Pete leans down to feel around for the velvet ribbon and when he hands it to Patrick, Patrick stands on his tippy-toes to press a kiss to Pete’s forehead. “Hey. I love you.”

When Pete says it back, they’re standing in the hallway. Patrick’s got his black ribbon on and he’s trying to button back up his jeans and his face is red because _oh my god that space was so small and three minutes ago your mouth was on my dick and I just had an orgasm and oh hey I just had an orgasm I’m kinda sleepy,_ and Pete’s in love.

“Hey,” Pete says, reaching for one of Patrick’s hands before he presses a delicate kiss to it. Although, the expression on Patrick’s face is far more delicate than anything. “I love you too.”

He lets go of Patrick’s hand but before Patrick gets too far back to the kitchen, Pete winces. “Also wait, before you go back, can you just wash your hands even though you didn’t really touch my dick because I feel really guilty about what just happened in there. Like, I think I’m gonna disinfect anything I can.”

Patrick grins. “Yeah. Side note though? I think your _No Making Out in the Kitchen_ rule is officially bullshit now.”

Pete sighs.

His _No Making Out in the Kitchen_ rule is total bullshit now.

* * *

Patrick finds Sameer on his way back from the office, just as he’s about to go home for the day… before he heads to Pete’s for the night.

“Hey,” Patrick says, coming up to where Sam is standing—in front of the food pantry with a huge bag of flour tucked under his arm. “So I have a question.”

“I have a question too—can you grab the baking powder? If I drop the flour, Pete’s gonna kill me. And I don’t know if I wanna step foot in there.”

Patrick’s face burns with the memory of Sam and Ashley standing in the kitchen with their arms crossed, saying that they just wanted to get some sugar from the pantry and instead were greeted with a whole bunch of muffled dirty talk.

“Yeah, you don’t want to _. I_ don’t want to. But Pete said he disinfected, I swear!” Patrick crosses his heart, before he starts his search. “But anyway—do you think it’d be an awful idea to go over to Tyler’s? I just—dude, I feel guilty.”

Patrick looks up to gauge Sam’s expression—he looks like he feels bad too.

“I don’t think it would be a… an _extremely horrible_ idea,” Sam chooses his words wisely. “I just think that—I don’t know. You have a lot more patience than me.”

“That is so far from the truth,” Patrick says to him. “You have a lot more patience than anyone I’ve ever met. You and Josh both. It’s just—I can see where he’s coming from. I literally have felt that way. I just don’t want, I mean—he calls out for a lot of stupid things but it’s never been about _me_. I don’t like that feeling.”

“It’s not your job to fix everything,” Sam rationalizes with him. “Please remember that.”

“It is when it’s my fault,” Patrick says, and he picks the baking powder out from one of the cabinets. He recognizes the knob as one that dug into his back as Pete fit his mouth around his dick but he very decidedly ignores that thought. “And you’re going to say that it’s not my fault and _I’m_ going to say that he feels bad because of me and even though I didn’t do anything, I feel the need to just. _At least talk to him_. Without the pressure of Josh being there, or of Hayley being there because she might tell Ashley and—I don’t know. I just don’t want to go there and make a fool out of myself if he doesn’t answer the door, y’know?”

“Oh, dude, he’s definitely not going to answer the door,” Sam tells him. “You’ll have to force him to.”

Patrick blinks at him. “ _What_?”

“I can give you the code to get into the building,” Sam tells him, “but you gotta force him to open _his_ door once you actually get in. Get him Taco Bell. He’s not going to turn that away.”

“ _What_?” Patrick repeats himself. “He’d open the door for _food,_ but he wouldn’t open the door for his friend.”

Sam clasps a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Precisely.”

And _that’s_ how Patrick finds himself sitting in Pete’s convertible in the Taco Bell drive-thru line. He doesn’t know what’s more absurd—the fact that Pete trusted Patrick with the keys to his _convertible_ or the fact that he’s waiting on line to get Tyler food and he doesn’t even know if he’s gonna open the goddamn door for him.

And _then_ , Patrick finds himself standing in front of Tyler’s door, balancing a large Mountain Dew in one hand and a hot-and-weirdly-moist-to-the-touch bag of a whole bunch of Taco Bell tacos in the other.

“Tyler, you _motherfucker_ ,” Patrick knocks on the door once again. “I know you’re in there.”

There’s a long pause before Patrick hears anything back.

“Maybe…” Tyler says, behind the door. His voice is muffled. “Dude, I want to be left alone. So _please_.”

“Come on,” Patrick presses. “I just want to talk. I, um. I brought some Taco Bell for you.”

A shorter pause.

“Did you bring soda?”

Patrick nods, even though he’s not sure if Tyler can see him. “Mountain Dew. A large.”

An even shorter pause.

“Did you get me anything with tomatoes?”

Patrick closes his eyes and forces himself to calm down. “ _No_ , I got nothing with tomatoes because I know you don’t like tomatoes on your tacos. And if you don’t open the door, I am going to _fucking throw it all away.”_

Tyler opens the door. And he looks like a fucking wreck. He doesn’t seem drunk and Patrick can’t smell alcohol on him, but that might just be because the smell of cigarettes is so strong that Patrick instantly feels dizzy.

“ _Je_ _sus_ ,” Patrick says, shocked for a moment.

Tyler shrugs. “Josh smoked all of the weed and Hayley and Ashley drank all of the— everything. You coming in…?”

Patrick follows Tyler into the living room, which is strangely the cleanest room as far as Patrick can see. He sets the soda and the big bag of Taco Bell on the coffee table, and curls up in the armchair as Tyler sits on the floor in front of his feast.

“Can you hand me the shredded chicken one?” Patrick asks. “That one is for me, the rest is yours.”

Tyler reaches out to hand it to him and Patrick doesn’t miss the way that Tyler eyes the ribbon on his wrist.

“So… what did you want to lecture me about?” Tyler asks, wiping his oily fingers on the GROUPLOVE hoodie before he digs into an equally greasy looking burrito. He talks with his mouth open. “You can take the ribbon off. It’s not going to, like, _retrigger_ me, or something.”

“No, that’s okay…” Patrick trails off. “And I don’t want to lecture you either. I just wanted to… apologize, I guess. I didn’t even think about what you were going to think about it, I should have known. That’s the thing about you, you’re always—aware. You know where the line is and you don’t cross it, and you were there for me during the Shane debacle on my birthday and you fucking understood how I felt because the both of us were struggling with soulmate stuff, and I just… forgot that this stuff actually _does_ bother you. You just show it so much more differently than me.”

Tyler’s quiet for a moment… save for the chewing. And at first, Patrick thinks that’s just Tyler trying to enjoy his free food, but then he puts his burrito down and looks at Patrick seriously. “You’re a good friend, Patrick. I don’t—I don’t wanna get stupid and self-deprecating. It’s annoying, I know.”

“No, do it,” Patrick says. “Get it out of your system, I’m here to validate you and prove you wrong.”

It’s not exactly a heartfelt moment. He’s not sitting on his balcony at five in the morning with Pete and talking softly. He’s not laying in Ashley and Hayley’s bed and handing Hayley tissues as she cries about the stress of school and work. They’re sitting in an apartment that overwhelmingly smells like the smoking section of a crowded park and Tyler’s talking as he chews and it’s gross but it’s so genuinely him that Patrick can’t be too disgusted.

“I don’t deserve friends like you. Or Sam. Or fuckin’... fuckin’ _Josh_ , God.” Tyler brings his greasy hands to his face and he rubs the bridge of his nose—he’s stressed the fuck out. “And I shouldn’t have acted like that. I don’t fucking know man. I just saw your wrist and I freaked out. I prayed for years for something like that to happen to me and then you had it and I just—you know.”

Patrick nods. “Yeah.”

“I just feel so jealous. All the time!” He yells, but it’s not directed to Patrick. “I feel jealous about Ashley and Hayley and about Sam and Jess and about you and Pete even though the idea of me actually being in love again is fucking horrifying. I hate being vulnerable like that. I hate, I hate that _Mark_ had my whole fucking soul sitting in the palm of his hands and he looked me in the eyes and he crushed it in seconds and stomped all over it and left me and my stupid broken heart to rot and you know, I hate that there’s still a part of me that wants him even after all of that because at least someone actually wanted _me_. Even if he didn’t even want me for who I was, he just wanted—I told you what he told me, right?”

Patrick shakes his head. “Every time we get close, you tell me that I haven’t advanced high enough for your, er. _Tragic Backstory_.”

Tyler cracks a small smile. “Oh. Well, okay. No better time than the present, I guess. You know Sameer, right?”

Patrick blinks at him. “Do I know—yes, I know Sameer!”

“Okay, I’m gonna start with him because it’s easy if there are familiar names. So… so, okay, this is way before I had an inkling of ‘oh, _this_ is what’s making me feel like I’m wrong’, right? I just always had a general feeling of ‘ _oh fuck, something is wrong and I don’t know what it is_ ’. My mom used to say I dressed like a lesbian, but I had the name of a guy on my wrist, so whatever, right? Didn’t matter if I dressed like a boy, sometimes felt like a boy, fantasized about being a boy, because at the end of the day, everything works out the way the universe set out for it to. Didn’t matter that I wanted to kill myself, didn’t matter that I was working my body to exhaustion with basketball and church and basketball and church and then more basketball, because _hey_ —someone out there is gonna love me despite all of that. I always thought it was gonna be like magic, like you look at them across the room and then all of those years of self hatred would melt away and my body would feel normal because someone loved it, and someone loved my messed up brain and scarred wrists and that would be it. And I’d fuckin embrace my femininity and I would wear a white dress on my wedding day because my Mom always dreamed about taking me dress shopping and then he would smile at me and say that I looked stupid but it’d be endearing kind of stupid and I’d—I don’t know, peg him? Because—okay, my fantasies were weird. The _point_ is that I was very much under the impression that the brokenness in me would be cured by the right person. Because why else are soulmates a—why else are we even doing this, why else is your name on me and why can’t I get rid of it? We’re meant for each other, right? So why can’t you fucking fix me.”

He takes a huge gulp from his soda and then looks at the floor with a confused expression. “Where was I?”

“Soulmates… being conflicted because you felt broken and you were waiting for him to, er. Fix you,” Patrick says. He’s already finished his taco by the time Tyler finished that whole rant, so now he’s all ears. He wraps the raggedy blanket to the right of him over his body as he sinks further into the armchair and he shrugs when Tyler gives him a look that reads _‘I don’t know if I would put that on my body if I were you’_

“I haven’t washed that in— ever. But anyways, yeah, soulmates being fucked up,” Tyler says. “That. Even when Sam shaved my head for me, even when I bought my first binder, even when I fucking renamed myself, I thought that Mark would love me and not… fix isn’t the right word, but it is? I didn’t want to _not_ be a man, I wanted my shitty feelings about not having a dick to not be there anymore. I thought that Mark would love me and validate all of my feelings because that’s _what he’s supposed to do_.”

He unwraps another burrito. “And you know, since I’m here to tell the story, that didn’t happen.”

It takes a minute before Tyler starts talking again—he’s piecing the parts of his story together slowly. “There was a while when Sam and I weren’t friends. I think that’s when it got really bad, even if I didn’t know it. It might be because that’s when everyone’s going through, like, fuckin’ puberty and shit, but… _yeah_. We were best friends since we were, like, ten years old even though my parents didn’t like me hanging out with him because they thought that Sam’s family were like… fuckin’ terrorists. Wild shit, man.”

“Dude,” Patrick says, while cringing. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m _not_ kidding! Every brown person in their eyes was like… secretly plotting against them. They almost lost it when Sam moved in two houses over. But for me, it was like… someone new! Finally! Anyway—so we’re best friends until, I wanna say the middle of November of freshman year. Because—you know Sam, he’s a total nerd. So he was put in all of those AP classes, and I’m a total dumbass, so I wasn’t. And my parents were really _really_ adamant about me getting a sports scholarship, so my main priority was basketball. And—you know Sam, he doesn’t know jackshit about sports. We grew apart even though we were inseparable, and then we started hating each other. It’s hard to feel indifferent about people you used to love. There’s so much pent up _feelings_ and _emotions_ and you just end it and it’s like— _fuck you_ , why don’t you love me anymore? Why don’t you remember all our good memories? Why are you friends with other people? They don’t know you like I know you, they’ll never know you the way I do. I’m always going to be part of you, so why can’t you fucking— _fuck_ , I’m getting heated right now. It was hard to stop talking to Sam and then see him laughing in gym class with his new friends because that used to be me. And I missed him. But I started being cold too. No one was bullying each other but it was—there was tension. And that fucking bothered me. As you can tell, since I almost gave myself a fucking seizure just now because of how angry I got.”

He laughs quietly at his shitty joke before he continues. “So, okay. You have an angsty teenager who’s like, _up to here_ with mental issues, them and their best friend are no longer talking, their mom is forcing them to practice basketball for hours after school, and they’re struggling majorly in school. I really was going crazy. There was a huge war inside of me...? I went to church three times a week, I played the piano there, my siblings and I helped teach Sunday School. And to fucking sit there and teach little kids about God while I was struggling with my own faith was—fuck, you know, and I would drive myself crazy because I didn’t know what was going on with me even though I—I was a tomboy, that’s normal, there’s a fucking name for it. I had the name of a dude on my wrist. Whatever I felt was just me being a tomboy. Even though I wanted to literally rip my chest into shreds. There was—”

He sighs deeply. “I was in denial. Even when I had it figured out. I was totally in denial. Not because of me, because it felt good to know, but because of my parents and because of how _God doesn’t make mistakes_ and _what will Mark think_? That was the scariest part. The not knowing? Not that it feels any better knowing. But at the time. It was all I thought about. So you know what I did?”

Tyler motion’s across the table to where a pack of cigarettes are. “That. And drink. Mostly drink. But it’s fucking depressing sitting on your friend’s balcony, smoking a cigarette and going, ‘oh shit. I have Health test tomorrow. I think it’s about the dangers of smoking,’ because 1) you’re killing yourself with these things and 2) it’s health class because you’re fifteen years old and in high school. It was fucking stupid. I would sneak out of my window and I would never get any sleep because I would hang out with the upperclassmen because they made me feel good and make me feel sexy and made me not care about my shitty and wrong body. It was never, ‘ _OH MY GOD MY BODY IS DISGUSTING I WANT DEXTER FROM DEXTER TO CUT IT UP INTO A MILLION PIECES AND DUMP ME INTO THE OCEAN_ ,’ it was, ‘Oh, this guy thinks I’m hot. Let me down some tequila and let him touch my tits’, you know?”

“I can’t say I know,” Patrick says kindly, smiling gently when Tyler lets out a deep breath. “Hey, it’s okay. You can keep going. I’m listening.”

“Yeah,” Tyler says. “Okay. So… so I’m destroying my body because I hate it so much. I’m not really eating because I’m busy with basketball and my mom had _this rule_ and—and if I’m not practicing basketball, I’m studying because I can’t flunk any of my classes, and if I’m not studying, I’m at church, and if I’m not at church, I’m at a party or one of my quote unquote friend’s houses getting high and trying to fucking forget. Because if I really just think about it, I’d go crazy.... crazier than I already was. I hate my body, I hate the way that I don’t feel like I fit in, I feel wrong wearing my hair down and I feel wrong getting dressed with the girls in the locker-rooms and I feel wrong at church talking about God and I feel wrong everywhere except for when I’m sucking someone’s dick and they’re telling me that I’m doing a good job. Because at least I’m doing something right.”

He runs his greasy hands over his face again. “So. So okay, I’m getting sloppy drunk four out of seven nights a week. My body is breaking down on me. The only thing getting me through seeing Sam and his friends standing in front of the GSA booth at the school fair, and seeing this guy who I think I fucked but I’m not really sure, is the fact that I have Mark’s name on me. Even when I had nothing, I had this. Someone is going to love me despite _this_ fucking curse of an existence.”

He sighs. “We end up at the same party, me and Sam. It’s sophomore year and nothing really changed except I sorta figured out the whole ‘I’m a dude’ thing. Kind of. I was still doing everything in my power to actively avoid it because—y’know, it’s one thing to feel something, and another to act on it. You can be gay and not act on it. You can be… a guy and pretend like you’re not because you love your parents and you know that they’ll never understand. So Sam is at this party. And he and his boyfriend, because that was still going on, they’re happy. They’re drinking in the corner of the living room and they’re socializing and I’m fucking jealous. I don’t want to be Sam’s boyfriend, but I want to be the person that Sam’s talking to, I want to be the person that he’s laughing with, not laughing at. So I start drinking and I grab this guy, and I tell him to fuck me and I make sure that Sam’s overhearing it. I don’t know—I wanted him to notice me. Because we did a good job of pretending that each other didn’t exist, but I wanted him to fucking remember me. I wanted him to feel guilty for leaving me when I needed him, even though I left him first. So, me and this guy—we’re about to do it. Which is nothing new. It’s—hey, yeah, tell me how much a good girl I am. Drill it into my mind, you know? Fuck it into me. That sort of thing. Except, I had way too much to drink, and he’s, like, zero seconds away from sticking his dick in me, and suddenly, I sit up, and I puke on him. Like, puke. Watery puke, because I didn’t ever eat, but _puke_.”

“Ew,” Patrick says.

“Definitely ew,” Tyler confirms. “I was so fucking embarrassed. I just ran out of there, which looking back is kinda funny, I literally left this dude naked and covered in puke, but I just grab my dress and I have it on backwards because—I’m not even thinking right now. And I grab Sam and I’m like _‘dude. I need to talk to you’_ . His boyfriend is sitting right now, fuckin’ _Francois_ , I’ll never forget that guy, and he and Sam are like _‘Oh, Savannah, you’re drunk off your ass right now.’_ And I’m like _‘Yeah, maybe. But I need to talk to you.’_ And then he starts getting mean. He’s like _‘You’re really fucked up right now, aren’t you afraid everyone’s going to make fun of you for talking to the gay brown kid’_ and it’s like alright, calm down a little, this is getting edgy. But again, we’re both angry at each other. We were like a team, Patrick. Like I can’t express how fucking broken up I was about—Sam was my best friend. So, I’m like ‘ _fuck you, I’ll go take care of myself’_ and I’m like… stumbling all over the place and there’s puke on my dress and it’s just not a pretty picture. And then I feel a hand on my shoulder, and it’s Sam’s, and he’s like _‘Fine, but you’re coming to my house’._ ”

Patrick nods along. As much as he loves the fact that Tyler is finally confiding in him, he hopes the Mark part is soon.

“And what you have to know about Sam’s family is that they’re the coolest motherfuckers in the world. They were kind of hard on Sam, especially when they found out that he wanted to be a chef, but they were always welcoming to me. Like, I have so many great memories of sitting on their couch eating gulab jamun and watching stupid Shah Rukh Khan movies with his family, and helping pass out parsad after a puja, and—you don’t know what I’m saying, right?”

“Not a clue,” Patrick says honestly.

“Dude, one day we really have to sit you down to watch _Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham_. It’s three hours long and I had my sexual awakening way before I watched that movie, but... there’s something about the _Suraj Hua Maddham_ scene that literally changes you. Seeing SRK in that see-through shirt singing in the water… fuck, man. I’m getting worked up right now. Back to the story—Sam’s parents are fuckin’ chill. I always felt at home when I went to his house, and that night, I was clearly a mess. They hadn’t even seen me in over a year, but they still were fucking amazing to me. I remember, his mom sat me down in the kitchen, because Sam was getting me some sweats from Sonia’s room, and at this point, I’m sobbing because I missed their fucking house, and I missed the way the house always smelled like brown food, and I missed _them_. And she gave me some Chai and she told me that she loved me and that everything was going to be okay. So—I’m clearly a blubbering mess because no one ever tells me that things are going to be okay. I think that was my first… sort of ‘Okay, things aren’t going to be awful forever’, you know? Like… it really felt like I was home. It’s like Sam knew the only place I needed to be. We were sitting outside because Sam’s dad had to go to sleep and he didn’t need a sobbing girl in his kitchen, and I was drinking my Chai and Sam and I just talked for hours, and I just snapped. Like, not in a bad way. Like, in a good way. I told him everything. About, about my mom making me practice for hours because if I wasn’t going to be good at school, I was going to be good at basketball, and about the getting drunk and having sex and smoking thing, and I told him about the feelings I had about maybe… not always feeling like a girl.”

He eats more of his food for a second. Patrick forgot that they were doing this—eating.

“And you know how gay people just love to fucking talk?” Tyler asks, and Patrick blinks. “What?”

“Gay people. Never shut the fuck up about gay things. Ever,” Tyler says. “I mean, I love my community, but all of that bullshit aside, have you ever been part of a group of—dude, duh, _us_. You know when Ashley just goes off on this crazy ass LGBT rant and it’s like… I totally hear ya, but you’re using some big ass words.”

Patrick nods. Yes… he knows that feeling.

“Yeah, that was Sam. But, but I’m totally grateful, duh, because he totally validated every shitty feeling inside of me. But it was sort of an information pile. He was like, hey… I think I have a word for you: nonbinary. Because I didn’t and I _wouldn’t_ commit to the idea of being one hundred percent a man because I wasn’t—because Mark is expecting a woman, and I’m not disappointing the person I’m meant to be with forever. So… nonbinary was good for me at the time. Sam was in GSA and he was openly dating a guy even though his soulmate was— _is_ —Jessica and he just took all of the mushy piles of shit in my head and was just helping me through that, you know? We just stayed up all night talking about our friendship and what went wrong and how, no, we needed to be in each other’s lives. And then he did this thing, and he asked me if I was gonna keep my pronouns. And I’m like _dude—I’m really not trying to get killed here. Yes, I’m still going by she/her._ And he asked if I wanted something else, that was just for us. So I told him that I was gonna leave the pronouns but that I liked the name Tyler.”

Tyler shrugs. “And I’m still okay with Tyler.”

“You’re definitely a Tyler,” Patrick says to him. “There’s no other name that suits you."

“Really?” Tyler asks. “Thanks. I thought I liked Toby for a while, because of dc Talk.”

“dc Talk?” Patrick frowns. “I don’t think I’ve heard of that.”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Uncultured. Anyway—I’m working on loving myself and this new identity, except it’s hard. Sam and his boyfriend are the only people in on it, but it’s fucking shitty to have to switch so fast from playing video games with them and they’re calling me by my name and then I go home and I’m getting my deadname shouted and yelled at me for X, Y, and Z. Especially when I think I’m getting better? Like, junior year, they put me in Advanced English classes because I was good at writing essays, and I was the captain of girls basketball, and everything looked good on paper, except I still felt like… like the worst fucking person alive. I was juggling getting sober and at that time, I was trying to find Mark, because I needed him. I needed him to tell me that I wasn’t insane. I needed him to tell me that he was still going to love me even if I actually, like… transitioned for real. Not, not _for real_ , because there was no way I was, or _am_ , ever gonna have enough money for that, and even if I did, I think I’m comfortable enough with my body right now that I don’t—If I had the chance, I _would,_ but it’s like. I’ve accept that it’ll never happen...? But yeah, but _transition for real_ in the sense of using my correct pronouns and going by my actual name. Then there was my family, because they’re super traditional. So, naturally, they freaked the fuck out when I came home with a shaved head.”

“Backtrack,” Patrick says, “When did _this_ happen?”

“Uhhh… middle floor bathroom in Sam’s house? It was really impulsive. I came over with safety scissors and a bag of chips and we did it in ten minutes and then we watched an episode of Anthony Bourdain afterwards. It made me feel weird because it actually emphasized the shape of my face and made me look _more_ girly, but I felt like I was, _literally_ , shedding a part of myself. And I was changing things and I was going against my parents and I did it for _me_. I left his house and walked into _my_ house and my parents were…”

Tyler laughs humorlessly. “Fuck. They were fucking pissed. We didn’t talk for a while. I still went to church and taught Sunday School and I was still on the team and I was still getting drunk to cope but it was like, _huh. Here’s a change. You’re getting there._ I bought a too-small binder with Christmas money and I wore a lot of baggy clothes and people were clearly noticing, but I wasn’t—I still answered to my deadname. Because that’s how Mark was going to know me. This stupid fucking guy was constantly on my mind, and it got even worse when Sam and Fran broke up and Sam found Jess over Facebook and he was constantly talking about her, and part of me, still, part of me _still_ thought that I was going through a phase. I know now that Sam is bisexual but at the time it was like… oh, his thing with Francois didn’t mean anything, he’s… god, I hate this word, he’s _normal_. When am I gonna go back to feeling normal?”

Tyler drinks from his soda. “I never actually did feel normal back when I identified with being a girl but again—fucked teenage hormones. My story changed every day. _No, I’m nonbinary, no, I’m actually faking everything, no, I’m definitely a boy,_ and it didn’t help that I had so many people telling me different things. Sam telling me to go with my gut, and it’s like, _I don’t know what my gut is telling me besides to fucking kill myself to stop thinking over it_. And my parents were getting more and more angry that I was pulling away from them even though they were pushing me away, and—so the breaking point. I quit basketball senior year.”

“I don’t think I wanna hear what happens next,” Patrick says, frowning. “Knowing what I know about your parents.”

“Dude, I wish I didn’t know what happens next,” Tyler laughs. “I mean, no, I’m glad it happened. They sort of kicked me out…? They told me that I fucked my life up and that they didn’t want to deal with it anymore and they weren’t going to pay for college for me because they didn’t have any money and I went and messed up my scholarship. I didn’t want to play basketball anymore, not because I didn’t like it, it was because they wouldn’t let me play with the guys, and at that point, I was like, _no. Fuck it. I’m not gonna fuck myself up any longer and do this_. So, they essentially tell me that they’re done with me, and they don’t… they don’t tell me to pack my bags or anything like that…? But I know that they don’t want to deal with me anymore. So I go into my room and—this is gay.”

“I’m gay, I love gay stuff, keep going,” Patrick says.

“Sam and I, since we lived a house apart, sometimes we would hang out on the roof of the house next to us, since the guy that lived there was like… fucking old, he didn’t know any better. So, anyway, I’m sitting on the roof and I call him over, so Sam is there, and I tell him what happened. And he’s like, _‘dude, you’re gonna stay with me’_ , and—I mean, I sorta saw this happening, but I’m still shocked. And he says that he already talked to his parents about it since he saw it coming too. So, I pack my shit. And I go to Sam’s house. Just like that.”

“It couldn’t have been that simple,” Patrick shakes his head. “Are you serious?”

Tyler nods. “I’m telling you, my parents didn’t care. They had other things to worry about, like my siblings. They were glad that they weren’t going to be responsible if I was living on the streets and died or something. And Sam’s parents just… took me in like I was always their son. I still don’t know why Sam’s parents did it, besides the obvious _they’re the best people on the planet,_ and I still owe them for that, you know? I lived with them for all of senior year and then… about another 6 months? And that’s when I started to go by he/him and started to go by Tyler. It was fucking… I don’t even know what. Amazing? Freeing? People didn’t really know what to think about it, because I was popular and on the sports team and then I suddenly wasn’t and I was calling myself Tyler, and I was just… quiet. One thing I didn’t do, though, was GSA. That’s gross.”

“GSA was fun,” Patrick crosses his arms. “Kind of.”

“I just didn’t want to pretend like I was some sort of role-model. I still didn’t feel confident with my body. Somedays, I still don’t. It’s a process. I didn’t want to pretend like I loved my body. Because I didn’t. So, I just did… y’know. Poetry club. I was still in the Youth Group, because God is… God, ugh. I don’t, I can’t explain why I still believe. I just _do_. Some of the people were dicks about it, but it was the only time I really hung around my siblings, so I had to take what I could get. Anyways”, I’m getting close to the Mark thing. So, Sam and I are living together senior year. I applied to community college and was just praying that financial aid was going to pull through for me and just be free, otherwise I couldn’t go, and the only school that Sam applied to was the Illinois Institute of Art. Because guess who lived in Chicago.”

“Jessica,” Patrick says, remembering this story. “He came to Chicago for her. I remember.”

“Yeah. I wasn’t… no, I was mad. But again, my jealousy issue. I didn’t want him to leave. But I really fucking understood it too. If I knew where Mark was, I would have dropped everything to find him. So, when Sam left for Chicago in the fall, and he met new people and made new friends, like _Josh_ , I was just living with Sam’s family, I was really lost…? I was going to school for Music, and I was working a shitty job at the grocery store, and I didn’t really have friends and I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, and I didn’t—I had nothing. I felt like I was stuck in time, watching everyone else be happy and live their life. And I was a guy and I was Tyler, but I got… I mean, I was happy that I was me. But I was still alone. So, I start _really_ trying to find Mark. My only reason for staying alive at that point, besides Sam’s family. And then… he found _me_ . On fuckin’ MySpace, where my name was still… my deadname, and I hadn’t touched that account in forever. But we start talking. And we’re getting along. And I don’t tell him anything. Because I’m scared shitless, even though my mode of thinking is, _hey_ , he’s born to fit you. He’s meant to love you no matter what. And I’m not keeping it a secret, because we’re gonna meet. So… we pick a date and a place.”

He takes a three minute break to eat another taco.

“We don’t have to…” Patrick trails off. “Y’know.”

“Dude, we already got this far,” Tyler replies. “I just. Yeah. Okay. So, we pick a date and a place. The community college library, because apparently Mark’s been living an hour away from me the whole time. Fucking figures. Anyway—we meet. I almost puke on him because I’m so excited, and we make a whole scene and we’re kissing and he’s running his hands over my short hair, and he’s happy but he’s confused. I can see it so clearly in his face, but I keep smiling even though every time he calls me my deadname I’m feeling actual fucking knives in my chest. Mostly because no one really called me that anymore? So, he was repeating my name in disbelief, and I’m just dying a little even though everything in my body is screaming at me and going _THIS IS HIM, HE’S BEEN WHO YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR._  And then I tell him. That I’m going by Tyler. That I’m going by he/him pronouns. But I’m still his, if he’ll have me.”

He takes a deep breath. “If you say the phrase ‘if you’ll still have me’, it’s like—dude, I’m counting on you to sweep me up in your arms and call me dumb for thinking otherwise. You don’t fucking say, ‘ _no, I won’t have you’_ , I’m your soulmate. You’re my soulmate. Don’t you know how these things _fucking_ work? Don’t you—so, we’re sitting down now and he’s confused. I didn’t expect this but I’m working with it. I’m telling him I’m still me, I just feel more comfortable like this. And he’s like… dude, fuck this guy. For real. Fuck Mark for this stupid shit. He tells me that he doesn’t care about gender. But I’m not a guy if I don’t have a dick.”

A pause.

“And I’m like… _speechless_. Like, I don’t know what to say. I don’t have fucking money. I don’t have the resources to get hormones or get a breast reduction or _transform_ my cunt into—nor do I really want to. Like I said, sometimes I hate my body. But I’m at an... okay place with it right now. I’ve accepted this body as much as I think I can. I mean, I mean I want to- but at the time, I had no way of doing it. And I don’t think I realized how strong I was at the time, but I really just told him off. I told him I wasn’t changing my body for him with the money I didn’t have. He accused me of taking something away from him. All this time, I’m still in love with him, you know? I thought he was going to save me. But we’re sitting in the library and we’re _arguing_. Like this is something to fucking debate. I’m telling him that I love him, that I wish things were different, but they’re not. And then he tells me that he’s not my soulmate and I’m not his.”

Tyler frowns. “He tells me that _Sav_ is his soulmate, not _Tyler_.”

“So, naturally, I’m freaking the fuck out. Like, I’m fucking distraught and I can’t even—I can’t even really remember what happened, that’s how bad it was. That night was awful, dude. Like, I just remember sitting on the roof and I was talking to Sam on the phone and I’m sobbing and I’m just like, _oh my God, Sam, you’re the only reason I’m alive right now and I miss you and I wish you were here but you’re so happy there and you deserve it but I’m selfish and I’m awful and I should just jump and get it fucking over it with because no one wants me, blah blah blah, Mark asked me to do this and I can’t and I’m so fucking lost and blah blah blah_ , and Sam’s like _… we need to get you to Chicago. Would it be crazy if I didn’t go back to the dorms in the spring and we get a place together?”_

Tyler sighs. “I’m gonna get into the good stuff in a second. I just want to bring it back to why I rehashed all of this stupid shit. The _point_ is that I’m afraid of letting myself feel that way again. Feeling vulnerable, feeling like one person is going to change it all. I’m afraid of people… people leaving me. You know? My parents didn’t want me, Mark didn’t want me, and what if Josh doesn’t want me too? I think I love myself now. No, I don’t, but I think I love my body now. But that’s my—that’s the reason why this all happened to me. You know? I trusted Mark with my whole life, he was something I could have relied on. My parents were stupid and sexist and homophobic and kind of racist but I loved them because at the end of the day, they were my family and they were shitty people who tried. And I want to love Josh, I really fucking do, but I’m just afraid of getting hurt again. Josh’s soulmate was a woman and what if that’s what he really sees in me? A girl? Or what if I’m not enough for him? It’s so easy for me to fuck around but now Josh and I are—y’know, and we’re best friends, I hope, despite all the bullshit, and I know that he wants answers, but I don’t have any. I love him but it’s just… dude. I can’t do that to myself again.”

“Okay,” Patrick says. “Okay, but just—you have to. _You have to._ There’s a difference between Mark and Josh here. You know Josh. Like, really. You know Josh, you’ve _known_ Josh, you know he’s not like that.”

“But what if he will be?” Tyler asks, shying away. “What if I’m not enough?”

“The night that Pete and I made out,” Patrick says. “That day, you told me that life is all about risks. You have to take them.”

“I’ve taken so many risks, none of them have done me any good,” Tyler says. “I’m tired of getting hurt. Did you listen to… like, all 18 hours of that depressing ass saga?”

“I did,” Patrick stresses. “I did, and I just… dude, I don’t want you to feel like this. Especially when I know that Josh is a good person, and I know he’s not going to fuck you over like that. And you are enough for him, he loves you.”

Tyler goes back into storytelling mode. “Yeah, but Josh always… so when the four of us moved in together, me and Sam and Jess and Josh, Josh and I immediately liked each other. It was the GROUPLOVE thing.”

“What GROUPLOVE thing?” Patrick asks, growing impatient because he just wants to lecture to Tyler how amazing Josh would be for him if he just let good things happen to him.

“Wait, you don’t know _the_ GROUPLOVE thing? Dude. Before we all moved in, back when I was travelling back and forth from Chicago to Columbus, Sam got all of us GROUPLOVE tickets, right? And that was the first time I met Josh, but waiting on that line for like 8 hours and then getting barricade and then singing to each other to ‘Close Your Eyes and Count to Ten’… that shit bonds you for life. We were making out by the end of it and Sam was horrified but it’s like… that _song_ , dude. That’s why I bought the hoodie. Because I don’t wanna forget that moment.”

“So it _is_ your hoodie!” Patrick exclaims. “Mystery solved!”

“Well, no, Josh paid for half of it because I wasted ten bucks on cigarettes. We share it. And we shared the pack too,” Tyler clarifies. “But that’s what I’m saying. It’s just the GROUPLOVE thing. He doesn’t _actually_ love me because… who would. Haha.”

“You’re a moron,” Patrick says plainly. “He doesn’t like you because of—you guys need to talk, for real. I don’t know what to tell you besides that Josh isn’t going to do what Mark did to you because Josh isn’t a transphobic piece of shit. Which Mark was.”

“I don’t know what part of ‘ _traumatized for life’_ you didn’t get, but—” Tyler starts to say, but Patrick shushes him. “No, no, no, don’t do that. You helped me with my stuff so I’m helping you with your stuff. I know I’m not as good as Pete, but—”

“Dude, you’re light years better than Therapist Pete. Fuckin’ Therapist Pete...” Tyler rolls his eyes. “He’s the worst.”

Patrick pointedly ignores him. “Well, _I_ think Pete is a good listener… but okay, you trust Josh, right?”

Tyler shrugs. “Enough.”

“I’m ignoring that, you definitely trust him. And you love him, right?”

“I don’t really believe in love anymore,” Tyler says. “But sure. I love him like I love Sam and his family.”

“No, you love Josh,” Patrick tells him. “Also, you haven’t fucked Sam or his family, so.”

Tyler raises his eyebrows. “Right. I’ve never fucked Sam… that _never_ happened…”

Patrick blinks.

Tyler shrugs. “Go on.”

“I’m— _okay_. So, you trust Josh and you love him, and you know that Josh loves you too, despite all the bullshit. I know that the soulmate thing bothers you, that you don’t think that anything can compare to that level of _emotion_. And I don’t want to say that my relationship with Pete is… I don’t know, I’m not saying that we’re the poster kids for non-soulmate love, especially since I haven’t fucking told him that his name is on my wrist—”

“Hold on. You haven’t told him?” Tyler shakes his head. “Bad idea. You know how Pete gets.”

“That’s why I _haven’t_ told him. I’m… I’m going to tell him tonight, hopefully? I need it off my chest. But that’s what I mean, we aren’t perfect people. But I love Pete. I love Pete so much. I _trust_ him so much. He taught me how to love again because I let myself drop my guard and I let myself take that risk because _you_ told me to and I don’t regret doing that. And I wouldn’t tell you to do this unless I knew Josh. But I know Josh, and I know that if you guys just talk it out, I know if you just let yourself love again, if you know that Josh isn’t going to save you, but he’s gonna guide you through it, then everything will work out…? I feel like I _am_ being preachy but I just, I just need you to know this. This is coming from _me_. Someone who literally let their shitty abusive soulmate ruin their life. Things looked up for me when I took things into my own hands and didn’t let him control how I felt anymore. Don’t let Mark, who isn’t in your life anymore, ruin it further.”

There’s silence for a minute before Patrick makes a face. “Can I get some of your soda, my throat is so dry. How did you manage to rant for 10 minutes straight?”

Tyler hands Patrick his soda. “I don’t know, but I’m glad I did. I feel like we just had a moment, dude. Like, now you know all of the dirty details of my life.”

“Are you going to take what I said to heart, though? Honestly?” Patrick asks, and he makes another face when he hands the soda back to Tyler. “Tastes gross.”

“Once again— _uncultured_ ,” Tyler grins. “But, yeah, I just—I know what I have to do. I know I have to apologize to him for being a piece of shit. And I _do_ see the love between you and bitchboy Wentz. You’ve made him a better person, for real. I guess that’s what I’m worried about too… that I won’t be doing anything for him. I’m just going to make him miserable because I’m a moody bitch.”

“Not a moody bitch… you just have tons and tons of _valid_ feelings,” Patrick says, and he stretches so that he can poke Tyler in the thigh with his toes. “ _You_ are a good person. And a strong person too. And you gave me the courage to… er, _shoot my shot_ with Pete. I just want you take your own advice.”

There’s not much more to their conversation—Tyler mostly just eats the rest of the Taco Bell and the two of them watch reruns of Anthony Bourdain. But, when Patrick leaves for the night to go to Pete’s, he feels _a little_ more confident in his decision to tell Pete about his mark.

He guesses that’s what being in Tyler’s presence does to him—gives him courage.

* * *

“Hi, so I have a surprise for you but it’s not done yet so… bear with me for like fifteen minutes,” is what Pete greets Patrick with at the door. It’s sort of important to mention that Pete’s not wearing clothes and his robe is about 98% open. Patrick’s eyes widen at the sight even though Pete being naked in front of him, is not an unfamiliar concept… _at all_.

“Is the surprise _your penis_ because thanks, I got it?!” Patrick whisper-yells, looking around to make sure that no innocent children are standing in the hallway, and he gently pushes Pete back inside before he pulls Pete into a hug. Patrick always smells amazing, this comes as no surprise to Pete, but he still closes his eyes and lets the scent of… er, _Patrick_ ground him. Sometimes, he just wants to bathe in him and sleep in every crevice of him.

When Pete tells Patrick these things, he’s usually either drunk or completely exhausted from getting fucked. Patrick just grins at him and tells him that’s impossible, but it sounds nice.

“I missed youuuuu,” Pete says, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s neck before he steps back. “And _no_ , that’s not the surprise. It’s gonna take me a couple of minutes to finish up, it’s—it’s not a _good_ surprise, I don’t know if it’s even— like, I don’t even know if you’ll like it, or—fuck, this is stupid, nevermind, I’ll leave it, or—”

The reason why Pete is  _bursting at the seams_  nervous about this is because he hasn’t done a grand romantic gesture like the one he's planning in a while. Like…  _Mikey_ a while.

Patrick stops this minor nervous breakdown in an instant. He rests his hand on Pete’s barely-covered shoulder and Pete physically _feels_ the tension oozing out of his pores over where Patrick’s skin touches his. “Pete. _Babe_. I’m sure I’m going to love it, alright? Unless it’s something covered in barbecue sauce.”

Patrick hates barbecue sauce. Pete knows this.

“I promise, no barbecue sauce,” Pete grins. “That would be majorly gross. And—okay, again, just give me a couple of minutes. Do you want to put your bag in my room or something?”

“Yeah sure,” Patrick says, referring to the overnight bag slung over his shoulder. “Oh! And I have your keys in there too. I actually didn’t crash your car! It does smell vaguely taco-y in there, though…”

It takes _a while_ before Pete can finally retire back into the bathroom where his bouquets of purple roses and his bath-bomb are, along with the plug-in record player, because Patrick talks a lot, but it doesn’t take as long before he’s all set. He drops a hand into the dyed purple bath water to make sure it’s at a good temperature and he rips the purple rose petals off the stems of one of the bouquets and into the too-hot-right-now-but-perfect-in-five-minutes water.

And then he grabs one of Patrick’s favorite Beach House record and puts it on the turntable that sits dangerously close to the tub.

And then he pours some whiskey out, because Patrick isn’t a wine person.

“Okay,” Pete says, sticking his head into his bedroom. Patrick’s sitting on the bed, half-watching _The Office._  “I’m ready, I think. This requires you not wearing clothes, though. Fair warning.”

“Is that _Depression Cherry_?” Patrick asks, referring to the music coming from the bathroom.

“Duh, best Beach House album, it’s indisputable,” Pete says, and then he shrugs out of his robe, letting it fall to the floor. “Come on, the water is gonna get cold.”

“How can you even say that when _Bloom_ —” Patrick begins to say, before he stops. “Water.”

“You didn’t hear it splashing in the tub?” Pete asks, and Patrick shakes his head. “Color me surprised. Okay, okay, I’m coming.”

“Close your eyes,” Pete tells him. “Here, I’ll guide you. It’s not that great of a surprise, but—I just. I don’t know. Close your eyes.”

“Should I take my clothes off before I close my eyes, or…” Patrick trails off, too busy staring at Pete’s body to continue his sentence.

“Um… keep your eyes closed. I got it,” Pete tells him, and he steps a little closer.

He grins when Patrick lets out a deep breath, physically shakes some of his nerves out, and closes his eyes, and Pete smiles even wider when Patrick laughs when his hands pull at his shirt.  “I know this is supposed to be sexy but your hands are cold and it tickles."

Patrick’s still wearing his ribbon over his wrist, but Pete ignores it in the meantime. He just helps pull Patrick’s shirt over his body and he chucks that to the center of the room where his robe is lying, abandoned. Patrick’s eyes are still closed, even when Pete reaches up to pull his glasses off. Even when Pete unbuttons his jeans, drags the zipper down, and gets down on his knees to help Patrick step out of them. And once Patrick’s boxers and socks are out of the equation (Patrick stepped out of his own socks- Pete imagines it would have been a little weird for him to get all up in Patrick’s toes…), and once Patrick’s naked too, the easy smile that been on Patrick’s face isn’t there anymore, and in its place is a look of concentration, like he’s trying really hard not to grab Pete by the hair and push him towards his hard dick. Luckily, Pete takes the liberty of doing this himself.

“I didn’t even plan on doing this until much later,” Pete says, closing his eyes too as he runs his tongue lazily over the surface of Patrick’s dick. Patrick whines, gravitating towards Pete’s touch. “But I fucking love your cock.”

“ _Pete_ ,” Patrick groans. “Pete, _Jesus_ , you gotta stop, I’m—the bath, Pete, the water is going to get cold.”

“I don’t care,” Pete sways on his knees a little, burying his nose in Patrick’s pubic hair. “Wanna stay here forever.”

“You’re just saying that,” Patrick says, pushing at Pete’s shoulders. “You totally wanna show me whatever magical bath you’ve conjured up.”

“It’s not _magical_ ,” Pete says, sitting back on his knees. He looks up before he forces himself to stand and Patrick’s still got his eyes closed. “But yeah, sorry, your dick just makes me go crazy. Just hold onto my hand, I’m not going to let you walk into any walls.”

And with only one hip bump on the door-frame, he and Patrick made it into the bathroom. Patrick’s eyes are _still_ closed, even after all this time, so Pete grabs the untouched bouquet with the note attached to it and places it into Patrick’s hands. “Okay, open your eyes.”

Patrick opens his eyes slowly and he blinks a couple of times as he takes in the sight in front of him. There are tons and tons of purple roses covering every available surface as he looks around, and where there aren’t roses, there are candles. It looks like the world’s worst fire-hazard, Pete can admit that, but when Patrick looks back at Pete, it isn’t to yell at him for fucking everything up. His expression is soft and warm, reminiscent of gooey brownies just out of the oven. “Pete… this is so _sweet_.”

“I didn’t wanna—I mean, I know you don’t like anything over the top, y’know, and I just figured… you can’t really go wrong with a bath, right?” Pete asks, laughing nervously as he watches Patrick squint to read the message on the card attached.

“What is this?” Patrick asks, handing the card back over to Pete. “I can’t read your handwriting.”

Although there’s Pete’s pre-printed message on the inside of the card, his poem, he scribbled something in French for the front of it.

“It’s French,” Pete says. “It’s, um. It’s by a poet. _Car, vois-tu, chaque jour je t’aime davantage, / Aujourd’hui plus qu’hier et bien moins que demain._ It’s… basically, I love you. I love you more and more every day. A little less than tomorrow, but more than yesterday.”

“We’ve been saying that a lot,” Patrick says softly. “That word.”

“Love?” Pete asks.

“Y- _yeah_ ,” Patrick says, his eyes widening. “We’ve been saying it _a lot_.”

“I don’t think it’s weird,” Pete says, “Or, I won’t make it weird if you don’t make it weird. So, I love you.”

Patrick, he reaches out to touch Pete’s face. His hands are cold, and the velvet ribbon that he knows covers _Shane’s name_ brushes at the stubble on Pete’s cheek, but when Patrick kisses him, Pete forgets all about names and about so-called fate, and he lets himself sink so deep into that loving feeling that he feels breathless. Or, that might just be the long kiss talking.

“I love you,” Patrick tells him. “You changed my whole life, you know that.”

“Yeah, and you to mine too,” Pete says. “Fuck, I’m gonna cry.”

“Nooooo,” Patrick laughs, and the sound of it in Pete’s ears is like hearts that glow pink in the night. “No, no crying. The only wetness I wanna see on your face is when I splash you with this bath water. Come on, it looks so warm and I’m fucking _freezing_ right now.”

It’s such a perfect moment in time, the music from the record and the sparkly hearts that Pete swears he can see floating around Patrick’s head and the smell of the lavender from the candles and from the water and the image of Patrick downing a shot of whiskey like it’s nothing, that it makes sense for it to crumble so quickly. It breaks apart in Pete’s hands the way that a cracked bath bomb does, except glitter doesn’t slip through the spaces of his fingers. It’s just hurt.

It starts when they’re in the tub and Patrick’s singing along to the song and laughing while he does it because Pete’s toes are brushing against his dick and he knows that Pete knows what he’s doing. And then Pete reaches over to undo the wet ribbon over Patrick’s wrist.

“Wait,” Patrick tells him, moving his hand back. “Um. I wanna leave it on.”

There’s a hesitation in Patrick’s voice that immediately sends warning signals out.

“It’s getting all wet,” Pete tells him. “It’s gonna feel gross.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says. “But I—I think I want to leave it on.”

“I’m not going to feel up your wrist if that’s—“

“Pete, I said _no_ ,” Patrick pushes. “I thought, I thought that was your whole thing. Respecting boundaries.”

Pete blinks at him.

“What,” Pete says.

“What?” Patrick asks back. The music is still going on, but all Pete can hear in his ears now is ringing.

“I can’t—I don’t understand what the big deal is, that’s all,” Pete says. “Like, you didn’t feel this way this afternoon when—”

“ _Oh_ , so my feelings this afternoon reflect my feelings right now?” Patrick asks, his voice shaky with emotion that Pete knows, he just _knows_ , is not from the fact that they’re having what’s turning into a heated discussion.

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Pete stresses. “I’m just saying, you’re just acting kind of—”

“How? How am I acting? I don’t want to take it off. So I don’t have to take it off,” Patrick glares. “I didn’t know that you were so adamant about—”

“I’m not fucking adamant about anything,” Pete says louder. “I just, I just know that you’re not telling me something.”

“Don’t yell at me,” Patrick says. “One. Two, I don’t have to fucking tell you anything if I don’t—I don’t understand why you can’t take no for answer. That’s what I want to know.”

“I’m not fucking yelling!” Pete yells. “Or, or now I am, because _you’re_ —and it’s not that I’m not taking no for an answer, I’m not pulling your stupid ribbon off your—”

“Fuck this,” Patrick says, reaching for the edge of the tub. “I’m not doing this right now. I’m not sitting here and arguing with you in your fucking bathtub.”

“ _Oh my God,_ ” Pete groans. “Where are you even going, can we just talk about this?”

“There’s nothing to talk about! You’re the one making a big deal out of nothing! And don’t stare at my ass when I get out of the tub!” Patrick shouts at him, and Pete lets out a frustrated sigh as he keeps his eyes focused on the wall in front of him.

“I’m not making a—we’re being stupid right now, this is stupid, it’s—”

“Don’t fucking call me stupid,” Patrick angrily grabs a towel. “This is not stupid to _me_.”

“Well, it’s fucking stupid to me!” Pete yells back. “And I didn't call _you_ stupid, I called _this_ stupid. I don’t—I don’t like that you’re insinuating that I’m like the guy who’s name is written on your wrist, _that’s_ what I don’t like.”

“Yeah, you guys have more in common than you think,” Patrick says under his breath, and that, _that’s_ what makes Pete’s vision go white.

“Are you fucking—are you fucking _serious_ , are you so—I asked you a question, I asked you one _fucking_ question, why don’t you want to take it off, we’re in the water and it’s going to get wet and it’s going to feel uncomfortable and you’re going to take it off later anyway, and—”

“Don’t assume you know my every next move,” Patrick tells him, towel wrapped around his body. He's speaking from the door frame. “ _You_ have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fucking try me!” Pete yells. “You’re right, Patrick. I have no idea. That’s why I’m waiting for you to tell me! _That’s_ the whole point!”

Patrick opens his mouth to argue some more but he looks at his surroundings. The tons of roses and the candles and Pete in the tub and the note on the bathroom sink. And then he shuts his mouth and shakes his head. “I can't do this right now. I need a minute.”

“Do whatever you want,” Pete tells him. There’s already a dark cloud beginning to form at the edges of his brain. He feels himself getting mean but he doesn’t care. He looks away from Patrick, all dramatically and he says “I need a fucking break too.”

Patrick stands in the door-frame, silent for a few moments. Waiting for Pete to look back at him, which he doesn’t do.

His voice is calm when he finally says, “…fine. I’ll see you later.”

And it isn’t until Patrick gently closes the front door behind him that Pete lets out a shaky breath. He splashes his face with the sparking bathwater and runs his hands over his face and he screams loudly into his palms.

The Beach House song that’s playing goes, _“You know you’re not losing your mind / What’s left you make something of it / The sky and what’s left above it / The way you want nothing of it / Baby, I’m yours”_ , and Pete repeats to himself, “Get up, get up, get up, get up.”

He gets up.

And he’s really _trying_ to work through the sludge in his mind that’s slowly building up like the way that day-old snow on the streets in the city does, but it’s hard to do that when he knows that Patrick’s already halfway down to the lobby and if Patrick walks out those doors, and actually _leaves_ , he’s never going to forgive himself.

“Fuck my life,” Pete says, wet and naked with no fucking time on his hands. So, he blows all of the candles out in the bathroom and he grabs the robe sitting on the floor of his bedroom and makes a run for it. He makes sure that the robe is actually closed this time because he already looks like a crazy person, running down the stairway still dripping wet and wearing no shoes, and the last thing he needs is—yeah.

“ _Patrick_!” Pete yells once he’s in the lobby, once he watches Patrick walk out the front doors. And the robe thing only made sense if they were still in the building, but Pete decides to fuck all logic and chase after him outside too.

“PATRICK, _FUCK_ , WHY DO YOU WALK SO FAST, _PLEASE_ TURN AROUND!” Pete shouts once he’s standing in the middle of the street, and when Patrick (and about fifteen other people in the street) turns around, he pales.

“You’re even not wearing shoes,” Patrick tells him, standing still with his eyes wide. “ _Pete_.”

“I know! I know, I just, _come back_ , I’m so sorry,” Pete tells him, ignoring the people walking past him and staring. “I need you! Honestly. I don’t want you to go home, I didn’t—I’m sorry for being an asshole, okay? I just needed you to know that before you went home and it’s dark and I don’t want you to walk by yourself and—”

“I can’t believe this,” Patrick says. “I accidentally knocked my head in your tub and now I’m daydreaming.”

“It’s not _that_ crazy,” Pete tries to justify this. But then he feels chewed gum under his right foot and the wind chill and the hair in front of his eyes dripping and _eh_ … “Just—forgive me? Please? Or at least let me drop you home. We don’t even have to talk in the car, you can continue to be mad at me and I’ll think about ways to be better.”

“That’s your problem,” Patrick shakes his head, but it’s endearing. He pulls Pete closer by the robe. “You always know the right thing to say to me.”

“So that’s a yes?” Pete asks. “You forgive me?”

“It was my fault,” Patrick tells him. “I should be begging _you_ for forgiveness.”

“Yeah, well I’m not allowing you to do that,” Pete says, feeling himself start to smile. “So there. Please, though, I don’t want you to think that I’m not… respecting your boundaries. I was just a little confused, I guess, but—I _do_ want you to call me out when I’m being a jackass.”

“You weren’t,” Patrick holds Pete’s hand in his. “Honestly. I just—I was just overreacting. And I shouldn't have compared you to _him_. That was fucked up. I know that I said a lot of weird things back there but, but I _really_ didn't mean that one because _fuck_ , you aren't like him at all."

Pete looks away. "Yeah."

"No, look at me," Patrick says. His voice is delicate but he isn't being shy or backing down from the words that come out of his mouth. "You _aren't_. I was just freaking out and I said the first thing I could think of and it wasn't- and I'm so sorry, Pete, I've confided in you with all of the Shane bullshit since the day I met you and it _was_ the absolute worst thing to say and I swear, I didn't mean it. I feel..."

The guilty look on Patrick's face, like the one back in the kitchen, returns. "... _super_ shitty about that. You've done nothing but be amazing to me, even when I feel like I don't deserve it."

"Hey, no," Pete reassures him. "Heat of the moment. I understand, I forgive you... but you know you can still trust me right?” 

He looks down at their linked hands. “I—because, I _know_ you. It’s like Spidey-senses but… _Patrick-senses_. I can feel the tension in your body, I know you’re holding something back.”

Patrick’s guilty look remains and Pete really really _really_ tries not to feel some sort of way about it. “No, it’s okay. I—I just feel iffy about it. The name. Because you’re my guy and seeing his name kind of reminds me that… I don’t know. I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I’m ready.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything until you’re ready,” Pete tells him. “I promise, I won’t push anymore. Curiosity killed the cat… er, curiosity made me run out into the streets naked to chase you down and proclaim my love for you again. Oh, I don’t think I got to that part. So… hey. I love you.”

“So you aren’t wearing anything underneath that?” Patrick half-shouts, looking around at the people who are still staring at them because they’re an _odd sight_. “ _Pete_! Why are we still standing out here, _let’s go.”_

They’re sitting back in the bathtub thirty minutes later _, after Pete disinfects his foot_ , when Patrick tells Pete that he loves him back. Patrick’s still wearing his ribbon, but as Pete melts into Patrick’s kiss, all of his worries about being like the person whose name is underneath the velvet fades away into the background of his mind. He’s nothing like him.

He knows this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was almost tempted to write that pete hooked up his phone to a speaker in the bathroom and just played mitski's "pink in the night" during the bathroom scene pre-fight just because that song is PERFECT for that moment... AND I KNOW IVE KISSED YOU BEFORE BUT I DIDNT DO IT RIGHT CAN I TRY AGAIN TRY AGAIN TRY AGAIN TRY AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAAAAAAAAAINNNNNNNNN
> 
> thanks for reading this chapter 14 of eapotato, or as i like to call it- 500 baskets 3.0! i literally feel like everything i write is just a rewrite of 500b but with (barely) different conflicts. but for real, ive never written a trans character and most of this was me projecting my feelings abt being bisexual (something i also did while writing 500b but that was different as i was writing a bisexual character not a trans character) and i dont know if it was okay, but ive never written a non-cis person before and i want that to change because!! not everyone is cis out here just like how not everyone is straight out here! so yeah. as always, im always open to criticism about how i write and again, im cis myself and i know that the trans experience is different than the bi one and this might be majorly problematic but ive been really just. RELATING to tyler on feeling like hes just WRONG and feeling this sort of guilt towards his family and he loves them despite the fact that they would never approve of him and it sjust. WEIRD FAM! its weird and i hate this feeling so the easiest way for me to vent about it is to literally VENT ABOUT IT thru my writing. but yeah.
> 
> back to my usual rambly bs:
> 
> soulmate marks are like clits but like on your wrist 
> 
> i have so many life updates!!! one is that i got a tattoo and it says 'semi-sweet' in my bffl lili's handwriting and i wrote out her 'half doomed' tattoo :') ALSO PETE WENTZ LIKE ACTUAL PETE WENTZ NOTICED ME AND LILI DANCING LIKE CRAZY PPL AT MY FOB CONCERT 8/27 AND HE CALLED US DOWN TO THE SIDE OF THE STAGE BECAUSE WE WERE DANCING SO HARD????????? he literally was like "there were these kids that were just freaking out up there-- yeah you!" and i thot he was gonna be like "why do you insist on writing fanfic about me being a bottom" but thankfully he didnt and for that im grateful! im not sure what else there is besides that work is fucking killing me, school is fucking killing me, and this fic is my only saving grace. which is sad. ALSO MY NEXT CONCERT IS TWENTY ONE UGLY PILOTS AND IM ACTUALLY REALLY EXCITED!! and after that im seeing ytg :') AND I BOUGHT PANIC TICKETS FOR JANUARY SDFGDHFDS when will i stop giving these ppl my fucking money 
> 
> i wanna share more w you guys but i really dont know what else to say besides THANK YOU AGAIN FOR READING especially since these chapters are so fucking long and i know I KNOW that they drag on sometimes. next chapter is gonna be full of angst but im really hoping its not more than 6k+ because its only two scenes but we know how i love to milk things for all that its worth! besides actual milk. bc milk is nasty 
> 
> tumblr: valleygirlsameer


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***the second section involves a character being like a thousand percent emotionally and verbally abusive- if you dont wanna read it and want me to summarize it, i got u!***
> 
> hi everyone!! i know its been an embarrassing amount of time since i last updated (for context: trench wasnt out when i posted the last chapter... YIKES. my faves are cut my lip and morph) and i truly do apologize for that. like.. if you follow me on tumblr.edu you have definitely seen my multiple mental breakdowns jdjfdhfjsf last year really wasnt #it for me in the slightest but you know what 2019 YEAR OF POSITIVITY!!! im gonna try my best to finish this fic before the end of june tho, because wtf, it'll be 2 years in november. HOLY SHIT. thanks for sticking around if you have <3 
> 
> so with that being said: HERE'S WHAT YOU MISSED ON EAPOTATO! so, patrick's soulmate mark changed to pete's name! WHATTTT??? we all saw it coming from a mile and a half away, but patrick totally didnt, and he's like really fucked up about it. mostly because he's afraid of what pete's going to say? is pete going to break up with him? love him anyways? love him but resent him because of it? get angry with him? PATRICK DOESNT KNOW and he's scared to tell pete because he doesnt want to lose what they have!! his friends tell him to tell pete, and he really wants to, and even plans on doing it, but by the end of the chapter, he chickens out :( he and pete get into an argument about it, they say some things they dont mean, and they kiss and make up, even though there's definitely a lingering sense of like oooooh fuck something is wrong. on the tyjo and... jodu (??) side of things, patrick got to unlock tyler's tragic past! it was 6k words (literally) of tyler spilling his guts. what we got out of it? that 1) sameer gadhia is THE definition of a best friend and 2) tyler is afraid to fall in love with josh because his experience with love was so scarring (we relate. never wanna feel this way about myself again) and then patrick tells him to stop being a dummy and to let himself love josh because josh loves him back! (maybe i should take my own advice? maybe love IS worth it in the end? hmmmm..) what else happened last chapter... OH! and the group discussed the colors of their dildos. thats about it. dont know how i got almost 20k words worth of material from that but it happened! 
> 
> and that's what you missed on EAPOTATO!

One of the most hectic days of Patrick's life doesn't start with the ribbon on his wrist. 

It starts with rainbow sprinkles. 

“So… we have a slight problem,” Sameer says. In his hands, he holds an empty container that’s labelled **RAINBOW SPRINKLES – VERY IMPORTANT!! DON’T LET THIS GO EMPTY!! TYLER, THIS IS** **_NOT_ ** **A MEAL!!**

“…oh fuck.”

* * *

“We have a big problem,” Patrick says, letting himself into Pete’s office. He puts the empty container on Pete’s desk, and then he crosses his arms over his chest.

Pete’s eyes practically bug out of his head.

“I don’t understand,” Pete says. “We bought, like, ten pounds of that stuff. And he ate them all? No fucking way. That’s—no.”

“He must have! Who the fuck else eats rainbow sprinkles as full meals!” Patrick yells, before he slumps into the chair across from Pete. He rubs his face with his ribbon-clad wrist* and he sighs into his hands. “It’s been a terrible day.”

_*It’s been three weeks since Pete and Patrick had that argument in Pete’s bath-tub. It’s been three weeks since they’ve talked about the ribbon at all. It sits pretty on Patrick’s pale wrist, and it waits._

“Yeah?” Pete asks. His angry tone has melted into something delicate. Kinda like powdered sugar. That, or Patrick’s already running through substitutes to put on his cupcakes. The sound of Pete's voice sends waves that start from the not-so fresh mark on Patrick’s wrist all throughout his body until he feels as though his blood is swimming in the kind of stuff that love is made of.

Patrick is in love.

“Yeah,” Patrick says. He leans back into the chair. “Not because of anything in particular. I just feel like something bad is going to happen? You know when you have this, like, gut feeling?"

There’s an expression on Pete’s face that’s comparable to a wounded puppy. “Yeah...”

“Kind of like that…” Patrick frowns. “I don’t know. Whatever. Should I run to the supermarket or something? I need those sprinkles and the only way I’m gonna get them back is if I made Tyler vomit them back up.”

There’s a moment of silence before the both of them lock eyes and grin.

Still, though. It feels like a largely empty day. It feels like everything is _juuuuust_ off-center. Whether it’s the light in the office, the fact that there are no more sprinkles left, or the fact that there’s a cloud of guilt the size of Antarctica hanging over Patrick’s head…

The thing about being in love is that it’s only fun when you can share it with someone. What's love good for when you have to keep it to yourself?

Patrick's been keeping to himself a lot these past three weeks.

The new disconnect between them, the new and ugly discordant chord, Patrick knows it’s his fault. Maybe that’s why it hurts even more. Because he doesn’t know what’s going to happen when he tells Pete the truth. He’s not sure if that’s going to heal this. He’s not sure if it’s going to ruin this. Worst of all—he’s not sure if it’s going to matter, if he’s going to tell the truth, cut himself open and hand Pete his guts with bloody hands, and Pete still won’t care. Just give him the same pitying look that he's been receiving from his friends since his mark changed. Tell him that it's not his fault that his body fucked him over like that. Tell him that it's not his fault for still believing in love, even though it would have been smart not to because, _damn_ , look where it got you. In love with someone who doesn't have your name on their wrist. In love with someone who _physically_ doesn’t have the capacity to love you back. In love with someone who’s in love with the past.

Pathetic.

That should be written on Patrick's wrist instead.

It feels as though everything Patrick has learned from his friends, everything that he’s offered to them, his words of advice, _their_ words of advice, it feels as though he’s lost it all. Like, maybe there was no ‘March Patrick’ or an ‘August Patrick’ and there’s been just _Patrick_ , who’s acting like the version of himself he’s always known himself to be. _A coward._

"Yeah, I don’t think serving people sprinkles that have been bathing in Tyler’s stomach acid is part of the, like, Edgar Allan Potato agenda. Not that there’s… okay, here... " Pete says, reaching into his wallet and handing Patrick his credit card. "Do you want me to come with you?"

The word _'yes'_ is on the tip of Patrick's tongue. He can tell Pete on the way there. Pete wouldn't make a scene in public.

Or...

 _Of course_ Pete would make a scene in public. He'd be ruining Pete's life. He can see it clearly now. Standing in the baking aisle and getting screamed at. The ribbon on the ground and the generic pop song over the radio as the charred remnants of Patrick's heart get shredded so that no one can ever have access to it again. People turning on their heels because they don't want to get involved in the gay saga that's going on, don't want to expose their kids to guy on the floor sobbing.

"No, that's okay," Patrick says instead. He offers Pete a smile. "Wanna clear my mind a little."

Stale. That's what this has become. It’s all Patrick’s fault.

"Okay," Pete says. There's another pause. "Hey, I'm sorry that you're having a bad day. I love you."

It’s never hurt to hear those words more. In fact, it’s downright fucking painful. Partly because Patrick wants to rip off the ribbon right then and there and point at it and get up in Pete’s face and say _no, you don’t. No you don’t!_ Partly because Patrick’s already almost halfway through getting to one eighth of the way over Pete and this just sets the whole movement back. But mostly because Pete’d be loving a stone-faced liar, someone who knows that they’re lying but they can’t stop.

“Yeah?” Patrick asks. He can hear the thinly veiled hurt seeping out of the word, like puss from a flesh wound. Thick and yellowish. He gets up to leave.

“Yes, always,” Pete says, leaning over a little, reaching for Patrick’s hand. “And—wait, come on, are you sure you don’t want me to come? I can ask MJ to keep watch, make sure Tyler doesn’t, like, eat the chocolate sprinkles next. We could grab something to eat... or, or throw eggs at Moon Café. Or we could drive around with the heat on blast.”

Patrick pulls his hand away, gently, yes, but Patrick catches the effect of it on Pete’s face, the look of disappointment.

“That’s okay,” Patrick says. “I’ll see you in half an hour.”

“Yeah,” Pete lifts a hand to wave goodbye. “See you.”

Tears spill from his eyes freely as he grabs his jacket. Fuck this. Fuck the self-hatred that’s building in his chest, he’s tried so hard and for so long and still, _and still_ , it makes itself known.

“You’re fucking unbelievable,” Patrick points to Tyler, who’s working the Rupi Kaur section, as he walks out.

“ _Woahhhhh_ ,” Tyler follows Patrick out, in his work clothes, mid-taking someone’s order. “What’s happening, what’s wrong?”

“ _You_!” Patrick shouts. His face is hot and red with anger. “What is—what is wrong with you?!”

“Um… a lot? I thought we went through this,” Tyler says plainly. “What’s wrong _with you_?”

“You and the fucking—the fucking rainbow sprinkles, Jesus Christ! It’s fucking bullshit!”

“I’m not talking about the _sprinkles_ , dude, what’s wrong with—bruh, I gotta get back before Pete _really_ fires my ass. I’ll tell Hayley to talk to you, listen, I’m—“

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” Patrick tells him, wiping at the wetness on his face with his free hand. “I’m fucking—I’m over this, I can’t handle this.”

“Can’t handle who, me?” Tyler asks. “Come on, dude, don't fucking bullshit me. You're my blood, I have your back."

This might be true, but a lot of things that would make sense to Patrick are out the door. Everything he’s ever felt because of his friends, his new home, he’s going to ruin it all and it’s no one else’s fault, and all the progress he’s made with his therapist, he can’t find it anymore, and now suddenly, like a Eureka moment, it dawns on Patrick that really, he wasn’t meant to be happy. The mark on his wrist is a fucking curse no matter whose name is on there.

He doesn’t know where to go now. Where to turn now that Pete is everywhere he goes.

“Patrick,” Tyler says softly. “Let’s go back. Does Pete—”

“ _You_ go back, _you_ have a fucking job to do,” Patrick lashes out at him. “I need, I need to be _alone_. And I need you guys to not fucking tell Pete e- _everything_ , I need to be my own person, I hate that everything I fucking do, I have to explain it, and I hate that we have to talk about everything, and—just leave me alone.”

Tyler raises his eyebrows. Crosses his arms. “You don’t do that a lot. The alone thing. Let’s talk about _this_ recent development.”

And this could lead to a really riveting conversation where they talk things out and then Tyler wraps his arm around Patrick’s shoulder and then they go back to work and then Pete unwraps the ribbon around Patrick’s wrist and then he’s actually not mad, he’s understanding, he kisses Patrick and tells him that he loves him, that this doesn’t change anything.

Patrick just walks away instead.

And Tyler doesn’t follow him.

The cold wind stings Patrick’s face as he walks alone. The sun is setting but it’s too cloudy to really see anything, so it’s just dark and gloomy. So much has changed since September of the year before, but Patrick can remember how he felt back then so vividly that it feels as if it were just yesterday. The days all look the same as they did back when he was still married, a concept which sounds so fucking absurd in and of itself, and now that he’s walking alone, he feels like the same exact person, as if he never left Shane. Back when the only thing he knew about Pete was _oh, isn’t that the—the Edgar Allan Poe guy? Tattooed guy?_ not the… the way that Pete’s whole body language shifts when he’s reading poetry, not the way that he takes his coffee, not the things that make him hard and make his breath catch.

Patrick knows when Pete’s going to cry just from the way that Pete breathes. He’s kissed Pete’s skin in the shower; he’s rubbed his back as he vomited after a bad nightmare. He’s seen Pete at his best, delivering a speech at his parents’ 35th wedding anniversary party, he’s seen Pete at his worst, his whole body hiding under Patrick’s comforter with a pillow clutched to his chest, and everything else in between. He knows that these things don’t equate love, he knows, but—he’s never felt this way about anyone ever. He’s never seen anyone the way he’s seen Pete.

He feels like he’s freefalling.

He doesn’t want to lose this.

He walks into the supermarket and feels a gush of warm air. He’s not crying anymore, the cold just makes his face feel numb, and he walks to the baking section with a basket in hand. This should be easy. But of course it isn’t.

“Hi,” Patrick says into his phone. “Okay, yet another problem. I only see confetti and quins. Just do that? I mean _realistically_ , we’re not going to need that many. I can get three of each, and there’s the little circle ones too, those are soooo cute, and—”

Patrick feels the harsh and burning stare of someone over his shoulder, but when he turns to see who it is, he really doesn’t expect it. Even though, with the day he’s been having, it should be no surprise.

“Yeah, that could work,” Pete says, through the phone. “A little change never killed—”

“Hey, I gotta call you back,” Patrick says, blinking at Shane, who’s standing right in front of him, picking out frosting. “I’ll—bye.”

“Um, okay, I’ll see—”

Patrick hangs up.

In a situation where Patrick’s instincts would be fight or flight, the only thing he feels is frozen. If he didn’t feel as though he was shot back into a year ago, _this_ will do it. Shane looks the same, if not a little worse for wear. There are condoms and lube in his basket and he’s strolling through _baking_ section.

“ _Patrick_ ,” Shane says, sounding a little shocked at the person in front of him himself. “Hey.”

The words build in Patrick’s mind, but he just stares at Shane, dumbfounded, instead. There’s so much to say, but he needed… twelve days in advance to write everything down and prepare for this.

“I’ve been meaning to call you,” Shane begins to say, scratching at the patchy beard on his face. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I guess fate brought us back together, huh?”

Patrick swallows hard. “Oh.”

He positions his wrist in such a way where Shane can’t see it – he’s still wearing the ribbon and he knows it’s wrapped tight around Pete’s name, but he knows how Shane is, he knows Shane beneath this cool and calm exterior, and he doesn’t trust that Shane wouldn’t do something.

Patrick’s name, however, is dark and black against Shane’s wrist. It feels wrong, seeing it again after all of this time. It used to make him feel warm and fuzzy inside, like he had a home in Shane, a permanent safe spot, but now it just makes him a little nauseated?

“You look good,” Shane notes. He sizes Patrick up. “You lost some weight.”

“I lost a lot more,” Patrick tells him. “You really fucked me up, you know that?”

Shane laughs as though he’s in disbelief. “Oh, so we’re going _right_ back to the bitching. It’s like you never left me, Pat.”

“I left you? You were—“ Patrick stares at the condoms and lube, _Jesus Christ_ , in Shane’s basket. “You were having sex with other people, you fucked them in my _bed_ , Shane, you— I didn’t do it to hurt you, you were the one who hurt me.”

“And now you’re in love with Pete fucking Wentz,” Shane says. His voice is hardened and cold and it reminds Patrick of nights that he really does not want to remember. Nights that are coming back up to the surface. “How is that fair? You left me all alone and now Brendon says that you and fucking _Pete Wentz_ from Edgar Allan Potato are a thing. Is that true? You thought that was a good idea? You think _I_ broke your heart?”

 _Of course_ Brendon snitched.

“Don’t do this,” Patrick finds himself pleading with him. “ _Don’t_. I never— I got in a relationship after we were divorced, there’s a difference. I never _cheated on you_.”

“You never cheated on me? You’re cheating on me right now,” Shane says. “Whether you like it or not, baby, _I’m_ your soulmate. No divorce paper can change that. Whether you want to hide it like a coward or not, you—“

He takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to remind himself that maybe yelling at Patrick after seeing him for the first time in six months is a bad idea. He can probably see it in Patrick’s face, the look of horror and the look of discomfort and…

And Patrick knows that he has to get out of there before this escalates. Even though there’s something about Shane that— even though that nine years is coming back to him quickly. Even though he feels like he can’t leave because he’s married to Shane and he can’t _do_ that.

“I played your game,” Shane tells Patrick. “I did my time. I signed your papers. I stayed away from you, so that you could _find yourself_. But now? Now you and Edgar Allan Poe guy are a thing? Babe. This is ridiculous. We took a break—“

“We didn’t take a _fucking_ break!” Patrick blurts out, not caring who’s hearing. “We _fucking_ broke up! Do I have to remind you of what you— what you _did_ to me the night that I packed—”

Shane laughs again. “Why are you acting crazy? You’re gonna display our whole sexual history in the baking section of a Key Food? I’ve _changed_ , Pat. This break—“

“ _Not_ a break—“

“—helped me as much as it’s helped you. But the difference is that I want you back and you want fucking _Pete Wentz_.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Why is it the fact that it’s _Pete_ so offensive to you. I never even really _met_ him until three months after we got divorced, there’s a difference.”

“I’ll always love you. I’ll always have a soft spot for you, you’re my… I don’t know, I’m not a poet like your _boyfriend_. But even a regular guy like me knows that the names on our wrists _prove_ our love. I see that now. Pete’s using you, Pat. He’s _using_ you to get over _his_ soulmate. That shouldn’t be your problem.”

There’s a pause. Shane looks apologetic. “I’d never use you again. I learned my lesson. I want you back. I’m _going_ to get you back. I’ll— I’ll make it my mission, babe, you’d be so loved.”

This is the kind of thing that would have messed with Patrick’s head a year ago. So maybe Patrick _has_ changed after all, because this isn’t working on him in the slightest. However, he doesn’t trust that it won’t start. He doesn’t trust that this fake tough exterior won’t begin crack within the next three and half minutes or so.

“You’re learning your lesson by sticking your dick in Brendon and Ryan. Right.” Patrick drops the empty basket on the floor, and he starts walking away. “It was nice seeing you.”

Shane leaves his basket on the floor too— Patrick almost turns back and asks if Shane doesn’t want to buy his shit before he leaves, but he’s not looking for a fight. He’s just looking to go home and to crawl into bed.

He stuffs the hand that has the ribbon wrapped around it in his pockets, and his fingers curl around his house keys in case he needs to do anything. Not that he could bring himself to do that, he doesn’t know if he’d have the courage to hurt Shane the way that he wants to, but...

“I’m not finished,” Shane says, trailing Patrick on out the door. “I told you, I’m _determined,_ I want you back. I miss you.”

“Okay,” Patrick says. He’s not going to cry. He’s _not_.

“What do I have to do to make you believe it?” Shane asks. When Patrick walks fast, Shane walks faster. Catches up to Patrick and walks backwards in front of him so that Patrick has no choice but to pay attention. “Do I need to tell you how hot you are? Because babe. You’re fucking beautiful.”

Patrick’s quiet.

“You’re— you’re the best baker that I know, you’re so fuckin’ talented, it's no wonder that Pete wanted you _for the restaurant_. And, and no one cares about me the way that you care about me. You’re the nicest person I know. There’s no hard edges to you, you’re just soft. You love so hard and you’re so forgiving.”

A pause. “Or, you used to be.”

“I loved so hard because I thought I was loved back,” Patrick says to him through gritted teeth because oh God, the tears are starting. “Even when you was buying concealer to cover up the bruises that _you_ gave me, Shane, I thought that you loved me. I know better now.”

“And I know better now too!” Shane yells, and when Patrick flinches, Shane moves closer. “Wait, shit, I didn’t mean to yell at you. What do I have to do to make you believe that I’ve changed?”

“Nothing. I don’t forgive you,” Patrick tells him. “And you haven’t changed.”

Shane smiles at him, but Patrick can see that his confidence is wearing down. “And why do you say that?”

“Because you haven’t,” Patrick tried to say, but then he gets choked up. The frustration turns into tears, and he wipes at his eyes once again. “ _Fuck_ , because you haven’t fucking apologized for any of it! You never ever _ever_ reached out to me to tell me that maybe, just _maybe_ , you felt bad for all of the shitty things you did to me, and I didn’t expect you to and I don’t expect you to, but do _not_ tell me that you’ve changed when you can’t even have the decency to— _fuck_. God, _fuck you._ ”

“Then I’m sorry,” Shane tells him. “I’m sorry for everything that I did that hurt you. I’m sorry that I’m fucked up. I needed you to love me and you just pulled away and you never wanted to do anything and—”

“I did love you!” Patrick brings his hands out of his pockets to wipe at the snot and tears on his face because now it’s coming at full force. “I _did_ love you, what did I do to make you not think that, all I ever fucking did is try to love you, I—you’re guilt-tripping me, I need you to get away from me, okay, just—”

“What the fuck is that,” Shane asks, pointing to the ribbon on Patrick’s wrist.

Patrick blinks at it like he’s seeing it for the first time too. He doesn’t answer Shane’s question.

The thing about living in a busy city is that people have places to be and they don’t really care about the couple fighting in the middle of the street because they’ve seen it a million times. But Patrick needs someone to care right now because everything is falling apart. Like, he’s two seconds away from walking into traffic just to not have this conversation right now. He was heading home, because that’s the only place that doesn’t make every bone in his body hurt, but now, he’s heading towards the restaurant because he knows he’s safe there.

“Jeez, Pat,” Shane brings a hand to his head. “What the _fuck_. You’re a goddamn hypocrite, you know that. You want to pretend like my name isn’t there so you can sleep around with other people? And then you call me the cheater when—”

“I’m _not_ a cheater,” Patrick groans into his hands, frantically wiping away tears. “I’m not, I’m not, I’m—”

“Trying to hide your guilt behind a fucking ribbon, babe? Why, so you can pretend like I don’t exist while Pete Wentz is fucking you?”

“It’s not like that, it’s—”

“Do you guys even have sex? Because you never were up for it when it was us. I’m your husband, you’re supposed to _provide_ for me. Why do you think I even sought out Brendon and Ryan in the first place”

“Stop,” Patrick pleads with him. “Just stop. Okay? Just—fuck, give me a minute, you’re talking too fast.”

With a disgruntled sigh, Shane hands Patrick a tissue from his pocket, murmuring something along the lines of “ _Gross_ …” when Patrick blows his nose and wipes his face. It makes Patrick want to throw something at him.

“Are you ready to talk to me?” Shane asks, his voice sweet to me. “Are you ready to explain yourself.”

“Can you _stop_ ,” Patrick tells him, scowling. His voice is thick because tears are still pricking at his eyes and he hates showing his weaknesses, but this is fucking awful. “Don’t talk to me like that. I don’t have anything to explain. We are not together anymore and that’s not my fault, okay, that’s yours.”

“It takes two to tango,” Shane tells him. “Don’t forget about the things you did to me too. You fucking shut me out, babe. You never opened up to me.”

“So you forced me to,” Patrick says plainly. “That’s not right. I needed space, I’m allowed to have fucking space, I was near you all the time and you never let me be alone and keep things to myself, it’s not right, it’s—you made me leave my home, you made me shut off contact with everyone I knew because—”

“Because they didn’t approve of me!” Shane yells at him. “You’re my soulmate, you’re supposed to be on my side!”

“You didn’t even give me choice!” Patrick yells back. “God, you—you made me do things I didn’t want to do, all the time, and you told me it was because you loved me, but I fucking know better now, I know that that was a lie, you _used_ me, and—”

“I love,” Shane begins to say. Patrick already hates what’s coming next. “I love how you keep saying that I used you, when you’re using Pete to get over me. And Pete’s using you to get over his issues. You two deserve each other.”

“Thanks,” Patrick says. “I agree.”

Patrick isn’t behaving the way that Shane wants to. So, he switches tactics.

“You used to be so nice. Now you’re just mean,” he says. “He changed you.”

This one hurts a little.

“I’m not being mean,” Patrick says quietly. “I’m telling you how it is now. I’m a different person.”

“And I’m telling you how I see it—I’m not blinded by fake love unlike _you_. I see right through Pete’s act. He’s not good for you. That guy has issues, Pat. You know I went to Mikey’s funeral, right?”

Patrick shifts uncomfortably. No, he did not remember that. That would have been nice to know all of those months ago when he accidentally asked Pete how Mikey was doing.

“He practically climbed into the fucking casket with him, Pat. I’ve never seen anything like that. And you think you’re going to change that? _You_? You’re a good baker and you’re a good fuck when you want to cooperate. But there’s nothing interesting—”

“You _really_ think this is going to—”

“I’m just saying, _I’m just saying_ , I know you. I know everything about you. We were together for 10 years, that’s a long time. And you’ve known Pete for… 6 months? Max? You really think that he loves you?”

“You don’t know everything about me anymore,” Patrick says. “I’ve changed.”

“You look different but you’re the same person I met 10 years ago,” Shane tells him, before he smiles. “Stubborn, but easy to break. Look at you—you’re in hysterics.”

Patrick is not in hysterics. But Shane’s making it worse than it seems and suddenly Patrick’s worrying about seeming out of control and crazy and _is_ he acting hysterical?

“Because you do this to me!” Patrick sputters out. “Because this is what you do to me, you ruin me. This is why I don’t want to be with you anymore! If you really loved me you wouldn’t, you wouldn’t do this to me, you wouldn’t make me feel like, like f-fucking _garbage_ , you wouldn’t—you wouldn’t tell me that the person that I’m in love with would never love me back, you—”

This was the wrong thing to say.

“So you _are_ in love with him,” Shane says. He laughs. “Oh, Pat. Baby. You do this shit to yourself, honestly. You know what your problem is? You ask for too much when you don’t fucking deserve any of it.”

It feels like Patrick’s knees are going to buckle any second now. Fuck, he feels awful. He’ll give Shane one thing—he knows how to get to him. Because when Patrick gives a low cry, a sound that he’s been wounded, Shane’s eyes light up like he knows that this is the one that’s going to work.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Patrick tells him. “I don’t know why you like seeing me _like this_.”

“I don’t like you when you’re a hysterical bitch,” Shane says. “It’s fucking pathetic. I thought we were having a conversation.”

“We _weren’t_ ,” Patrick runs his hands over his face, trying to make himself clean again, so that he can focus on getting back to the restaurant. Collapsing into a booth in the Langston Hughes section and crying into his folded arms as Tyler and Hayley talk to him. “We weren’t having a conversation, I don’t want to fucking _talk_ to you. Nothing you say is going to change my mind. I’m _sorry_. You’re just—you’re just making me hate you even more than I—”

“No,” Shane corrects him. “I’m telling you the truth that all of your new friends are too pussy to tell you because I love you. _Pete Wentz?_ Will never love you. Once you get that through your thick skull—”

“You don’t know him the way that I know him,” Patrick’s hands shake. “You don’t—you know nothing about us. I’m a better person because of him, you just made me feel like _this_ and I hate feeling like _this_.”

“You’re doing it to yourself!” Shane corrects Patrick again. “You’re only getting crazy because you know what I’m saying is true, you know deep down that Pete will never love you, if you were confident that he did, you wouldn’t be acting like this.”

Shane’s right—this hurts so badly because Patrick _doesn’t_ think that Pete will love him back once he knows the truth. But it hurts so much more because it’s coming from _him_. It hurts even though Patrick knows that Shane’s doing it on purpose, because this is what Patrick deserves, he deserves to get yelled at in front of strangers in the street, he deserves to be crying so hard that it feels like blood is going to come out through his eyes, he deserves to feel unloved. It’s what he deserves but it’s not fair. Everything feels dizzy, and his wrist hurts, and there’s a thought in his head, like what if his mark is going to turn back into Shane’s name, and—it’s too much. He can’t think.

This is where Shane wanted him from the very beginning. Unsure of himself.

“Unlike Pete, I have your name on my wrist. I will love you,” Shane tells him, _his_ voice strong and sure. “You have my name on your wrist. We can have that wedding you always wanted. We can move away from this fucked up city. You always wanted a Golden Retriever, right? We could get a Golden Retriever. It could just be the two of us.”

Patrick blinks at him. “I always wanted a Pomeranian. _Jeez,_ Shane. When you, when you make an attempt to fucking tempt me, at least _try_ to—”

Shane’s hands fashion into fists. This is when Patrick stops talking.

“You are so fucking annoying. You know that?” Shane asks. “I don’t fucking care what kind of dog you wanted, it’s—the point is that we could get one. We could be happy together if you just stopped living in this fantasy land where—where people love you unconditionally. It’s not realistic and if it were, you’re the last person on the planet someone could love unconditionally. You come with _all_ of the conditions. I’m the only person on Earth that’s made to handle your constant bullshit. It’s not gonna get any better than this. You and Pete are living in a honeymoon phase, so what the fuck is going to happen nine years from now when Pete realizes that you’re the single most annoying person on the fucking planet. And when he inevitably cheats on you because you would have ate back all of the weight you lost because you’re _so fucking lonely and sad and you just need some alone time_ , what’s going to happen? You’re going to leave him too and try to start again? I don’t like Pete, but I can’t help but feel bad if this is what he’s been dealing with for the past six months.”

Patrick has nothing to say to that. He just gives Shane this look, like there’s nothing for him to take from Patrick anymore because he’s empty.

“I’m not saying this to be mean,” Shane says to him. When he tries to wrap his arm around Patrick’s shoulder, because Patrick’s shaking, Patrick shrugs away from him. “I’m not like you. This break was good for me. I learned a lot about forgiveness. I’m asking the _you that I know_ to forgive me. I want you back. I _need_ you back. You kept me sane, babe. I see that now. What’s wrong with—with needing something bad to happen in order to see the light?”

“You had nine years to see the light,” Patrick says. “And we did not take a _fucking_ break. We got _divorced_. Our marriage is over. And it’s going to remain over. Bury your sadness somewhere else, I’m done nursing it.”

“I know where you work,” Shane tells him. “I can find out where you live. We’re soulmates no matter what you think. My name being on your fucking wrist isn’t a lie. I’m not letting this go.”

“I don’t care,” Patrick says. He can see Edgar Allan Potato, it’s a block away. Patrick’s practically sprinting. “ _I’m_ letting this go. Everything you just said just confirmed to me that you're fucking toxic for me.”

“I was built for you,” Shane tells him. Quickens his pace when he sees where Patrick’s headed. “If I’m toxic for you, that just means that you were born to be abused.”

“How do you even- how do you even think that’s okay to say?” Patrick asks, trailing off because he’s opening the door to his safe haven. It comes as no surprise to him that Shane follows—Gabe isn’t working today, and the new girl doesn’t know about the _SHANE MORRIS IS NOT ALLOWED IN HERE SERIOUSLY I WILL PASTE A PICTURE ON THE DOOR IF I HAVE TO_ rule. Tyler isn’t anywhere in sight, Josh is making drinks, and Ashley and Hayley are talking in the corner. No one is paying attention to Patrick. It’s like he doesn’t exist.

His stomach hurts.

He walks between tables and chairs to get into the kitchen. Shane yells at him, _yells_ , as he trails behind. “Because you need to hear it! You’re delusional if you think that I’m going to accept being alone so that you can live out a fantasy that will never be real.”

They end up in the kitchen. This is now the second time that someone relating to Patrick has come in here and started something. Sam and MJ and the rest of the people that Patrick has begun to think of as friends and acquaintances, they’re witnesses to the crazy that Patrick brings into this place. The negativity follows Patrick wherever he goes.

He gets yelled at like he’s a child. He gets yelled at like how he used to get yelled at, in front of his co-workers at Shane’s bakery. He’s beyond mortified.

“You’re a selfish person and everyone deserves to know the truth about you. You put on this _fucking_ act like you’ve been hurt and that you’re the _fucking_ victim in all of this, and he deserves to know that before he jumps into a relationship with you, and before he thinks that you’ll save him, so that when you just fucking suck the life and the happiness out of him and then at the end of it all, blame _him_ for it instead of taking the goddamn blame, he’ll have a heads up. At least with me, I tried to put up with you.”

There’s people gathering around them, and he hears yelling, feels people moving the two of them apart, but before they’re _too_ apart, Shane grabs the corner of Patrick’s ribbon and _yanks_ it off. It falls to the ground the way that it does in Patrick’s nightmares. “Stop lying to yourself for once in your life. Look at who you belong to.”

Except, of course...

Except, of course Shane’s name isn’t on Patrick’s wrist. It’s Pete’s.

Pete, who’s in the kitchen, who’s standing between Patrick and Shane now, his eyes widen when he sees his name on Patrick’s exposes wrist. He blinks at it, and looks up at Patrick with a shocked, hurt and  _confused_ expression on his face. 

“Oh, Pat,” Shane laughs. “You fucking _moron_. It never stops with you, huh?”

“You need to leave,” Patrick can hear Pete say, but he’s burying his head in MJ’s shoulder, wetting her apron with basically everything coming out of his face. “I’m going to call the police if you don’t get the fuck out of here.”

“Yeah?” Shane asks, laughing. “All that for Pat?”

“I’m not kidding. You need to leave.” Pete says. His voice is far away though, almost like Patrick’s dreaming it.

It’s complete chaos, he can hear the overlapping sounds of people yelling, and the “who _was_ that?” and the “oh, that’s who Patrick was trying to cover up?” and Patrick’s _favorite_ , “no, dude, that was definitely Pete’s name, I saw it.”

He goes outside. Pete and Shane are arguing loudly, and he hears Sam and Ashley calling for him, but it’s either have a whole emotional breakdown in the middle of the kitchen, or have a whole emotional breakdown on the streets of Chicago where six other people are doing the same thing.

“Fuck,” he says to no one in particular when he steps outside. “Oh, _fuck_.”

It’s official. Patrick is one thousand and ten percent fucked.

“Go,” Tyler says. When Patrick turns his head, Tyler is there, waiting by the entrance with his hands in his pockets. He looks calm, but like... _calm before the storm_ type of calm. Tyler is never relaxed like this, like he's entirely sure of his next move, but he looks ready. “I got this.”

“Got what?” Patrick sobs without meaning too.

“ _This_ ,” Tyler tells him. “Don’t worry. I'm gonna take care of it. You’re my blood, remember?”

“Whatever that means,” Patrick wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Why do you have to be so fucking cryptic all the time?"

 Tyler doesn’t get the chance to answer, though he looks like he has a whole monologue planned, because the next person out of the restaurant is MJ. MJ, who quickly links her arm with Patrick’s and pulls him in the other direction. “Shane’s about to leave, let’s get you home.”

“I’m really okay,” Patrick tells her. Which is a laughable concept— Patrick being okay like _this._ His voice wobbles. “You don’t have to walk me home.”

“I want to,” MJ reassures him. “I love you, I don’t—that was terrible.”

“Yeah,” Patrick manages a laugh, though that turns into another broken off and weakened sound. “That—yeah. I feel so fucking stupid. _So fucking stupid.”_

“Don’t,” MJ tells him. They cross the street. It’s hard to focus on anything really, besides her voice, besides the lingering smell of her perfume, which is a good thing, because when MJ looks over her shoulder, she pulls Patrick a little faster. “Don’t feel stupid,” she says. “It’s not. Patrick, that—that was bad.”

“Yeah, it was,” Patrick says, and _God_ , his head is still fucking spinning. It’s like, all he wants to do is curl up into a ball and die, or better yet, just dive headfirst into traffic, because MJ is right. That was pretty fucking awful. Except, he can’t just lie down in the street, he has to just keep walking because there it is, his past, chasing him down. _Literally_. There’s one working part of his brain which tells him that the fact that Pete isn’t here with him, that it’s MJ instead, is the answer to the question that Patrick didn’t want to ask.

“I feel so fucking stupid,” he says. “Does— does he hate me? I just—I just need to know if I should– if–”

He tries to clear his head so that he can say what he desperately doesn’t want to, but Shane’s agonizing voice in his head just keeps going and going and going and going and going and going. “If he doesn’t want to see me again. I can do that. I’ll—I’ll be okay. I can quit and—”

Somehow, the ache of not seeing his friends hurts even more though. If there were no more Pete, that would be one thing. But he thinks about not hearing Sam and Tyler bicker about _everything_ , from what qualifies as too much pepper sauce to what the best Queen song is, he thinks of all of the times he’s sat on Hayley and Ashley’s couch and finished bottles of wine with them, the movie runs with Josh and refilling their popcorn to share on the drive home. All of the band moments like sitting in Sam’s living room and writing music, not to actually put it out anywhere but to connect with each other and make something together because they were a _team_. Summer nights in Sam’s car, driving through the city and breathing in the cotton candy smoke from Tyler’s juul and listening to some Julian Casablancas song and glancing over to look at MJ and Pete next to him, feeling Pete’s leg against his, holding Pete’s hand in his.

“I don’t want to lose you guys. You guys are my family. I just need to know if I need to prepare to say goodbye to—”

He trails off, not wanting to say more. Not wanting to speak this one out into the universe even though the universe doesn’t seem to be answering to him much.

“No one is losing anybody,” MJ says to him, and she sounds so _sure_ of it. “Believe me.”

This is the most _unsure_ Patrick has felt in a long time… but there’s something about the way that she says it, something about his relationship with his friends, something about the love that they all share for each other, that makes him believe her.

* * *

Patrick sleeps for six hours straight. He falls into his bed and cries and goes to sleep. He wakes up with a pounding headache and with Pete sitting at the foot of his bed. It’s not as creepy as it sounds—Patrick’s lamp is on so he can see Pete perfectly, the dark circles under his eyes that Patrick’s traced with his fingers before, the same gelled hair, the same stubble on his face. But even if he couldn’t see anything but Pete’s shadow, he’d know it was him. Just the way he’s sitting, with his legs crossed over each other crisscross style, the way his back is slouched.

“What…” Patrick rolls over in his bed and buries his head in his wet pillows. “What’re you doing here?”  
  
“Um…” Pete drums his fingers on his knees. “You weren’t—I tried calling you and you weren’t answering and I kinda freaked out. I used my key.”  
  
“Oh,” Patrick says. His voice is still choked up. He doesn’t want to sit up, because he knows his hair will be a disaster. He knows his face is red and sweaty and clammy. He knows that he’s a mess. So, he just speaks into the side of his pillow. “Sorry for making a scene like that.”  
  
“Patrick,” Pete says quietly. “You didn’t make a scene.”  
  
Patrick swallows hard. “ _Pete_.”  
  
“ _Patrick_ ,” Pete repeats. “Wait, can I come closer?”  
  
Patrick makes a sound that sounds like _yes_ , and he can feel Pete crawling closer, until he’s next to Patrick and curled up underneath the covers. This is the weirdest break-up ever. Patrick would laugh about it if he weren’t so fucking upset about it.  
  
“Look at me,” Pete urges. “Trix, please.”  
  
Patrick turns a little, so that Pete can see his swollen eyes, the way that his hair sticks to his forehead. _This_ is impossible to love. Pete can’t be blamed for wanting to end it. He just hopes that he looks pathetic enough for Pete to take pity on him when the end comes. “I’m sorry,” Patrick says again. “I shouldn’t have lied about it, I wanted to—I don’t even know? Let the illusion last.”  
  
“The illusion that what?” Pete asks sincerely. He brushes a strand of hair out of Patrick’s eyes.  
  
“That you could love me,” Patrick says. “It was different when the names weren’t involved. When it was casual. Or, as casual as we could get, anyway. I didn’t _plan_ on having my name change to yours, I didn’t _wish_ for it, it just—and I know that you’re like, not okay with the idea of _us_ being—but I didn’t _want_ it, it just _happened,_ and I thought that maybe it could have changed back or something, or that if I just hid it and kept it out of my sight, it would magically go back.”

He pauses. “But at the same time, I didn’t want Shane’s name back on me either. So I was just— just _stuck_ and everyone kept telling me to tell you but Pete, I—”

He hangs his head. “Like that night that we fought. And I kept being closed off. It was because of _this_. I didn’t want to ruin that moment because I didn’t want you to see what happened, I didn’t want you to get mad because you did this really nice thing for me and I was so afraid that it was gonna fall out from under me. Even though…”

He trails off. So, the night ended up being a little unpleasant, with all of the declarations of love in the street while still being soaking wet. _But still._ “Like, it’s so much drama, I always bring drama wherever I go, and I hate that I’m the source of it, I hate that I can’t do anything _right_ , I hate that—that we had this really good thing going for us. We had boundaries. I always could accept that you didn’t want a soulmates deal, I always could—even though it hurt sometimes, I knew that our situations were different. And then this _thing_ happened.”

Pete is mostly quiet. It drives Patrick out of his fucking mind.

“And, and that was the thing! It was killing me to lie to you… but you heard _him_ , I’m just selfish. I guess I just wanted. I don’t know. To be happy. Or something.”

He laughs a little, though it’s not one out of happiness or amusement. “I don’t know why I thought it was going to work. Or, no. I knew it wasn’t going to work. But I didn’t think it—I didn’t want you to find out like this. It’s so fucking embarrassing.”

There’s another pause. Pete’s still just quiet, though he’s watching Patrick’s face.

“And every time I tried to tell you, you’d—you’d be _you_. And I didn’t want to lose you because I love you,” Patrick says, and he doesn’t flinch away when Pete brings a hand up to brush away a tear. “Fuck, I feel like I’ve been crying all day. Come on, say something.

Pete gives him a sad smile. “I kinda don’t know where to start.”

“I don’t know…” Patrick murmurs. “Make it easy. Say something like... I never really mattered.”

Pete blinks. “Why would I do that?”

“What? To make it easy on me?”

“No, I—I didn’t—wait, are we on the same page?”

“I don’t know… wait, are we? You’re breaking up with me because I lied to your face about not having your name on my wrist for three weeks. That’s where _I’m_ at. Where are you?”

“Not there,” Pete says. “Nowhere near there. I’m… um. At the part where I tell you that I love you so fucking much and that I’ll happily embrace my name being on your wrist because I know that it wasn’t a decision that you made consciously, and… even if it were, you know, I’d rather it be my name, anyone’s name, over that piece of shit Shane’s.”

Pete waits a moment. “Actually, I don’t think the part that you mentioned was in the book.”

“Are you serious?” Patrick asks, staring at Pete in confusion. _So_ much confusion. “ _Pete_.”

He brings his hands up to wipe at the tears that come steadily. Though, for the first time in the day, for the first time in a while, they’re not tears of frustration or sadness or embarrassment, they’re just _happy_. “I don’t understand. I don’t deserve—fuck, Pete, I don’t deserve you, you’re so good to me, I don’t get it, I don’t get how—how you’re so _good_ to me.”

Pete shifts a little—they’re both still huddled underneath the comforter on Patrick’s bed, but he moves so that he can lean against his arm, so that he can see Patrick’s face clearer, so that he can look at his name printed so boldly on Patrick’s wrist that it looks like it’s always been there, confident and dark. Pete rests his thumb underneath his name, his name that he hasn’t looked at in this sort of context, etched into the skin of another person, since Mikey’s funeral. He can feel Patrick’s pulse underneath the name, how his heart races.

“You constantly amaze me,” Pete tells him. “Sometimes I think that I’ve reached like a— like, I always thought that I would never love anyone the way that I loved Mikey. I always kept this wall up in my head, that—okay, even if I ever dated someone again, it would never be like that. I could get close to someone and I could love them, but it’d never be— _like_ that, it’d never be like with Mikey. No one would ever see me the way that he did. But you _do_ , Trix. I’ve never let someone in the way that I’ve—you just came into my life so seamlessly and I fought it for so long but then suddenly it was happening and it scared me and it bothered me with just how _easy_ it was. I’m the one that doesn’t deserve you, because you just—you love me even though I come with enough baggage to last three lifetimes.”

“Are you kidding?” Patrick asks, laughing softly, running his hands over Pete’s cheek, cupping his face, pulling him closer. “You come with baggage? _I_ come with baggage. You _saw_ the baggage I come with. My baggage fucking—fucking barged in and ruined everything and make everyone uncomfortable and made Tyler do—I don’t even know what.”

“Yeah, but that’s not your fault,” Pete says.

Patrick shrugs. “I was—y’know. Enabling it. Talking back. It was so weird. I thought that I was bigger and badder and I thought I had it under control, and then he just ripped the rug from out under me and made it clear, like, who had the upper hand. It was _insane_ , Pete, it was like—like I didn’t even know who I was anymore, he talked to me for five minutes, five _fucking_ minutes, and I was already getting roped back into it, he was already gas lighting the _shit_ out of me, and I was falling for it. And I know it’s not my fault, but I thought I was making progress, and that was just like—wow. You really _are_ weak.”

“You’re not weak,” Pete says. “That was really unexpected and there was no way that you could have anticipated he was going to—what did he even do? How did that even happen?”

“At the supermarket,” Patrick says. “I was getting the sprinkles. And then he was there, buying condoms and lube. Can you fucking believe that? It’s like. _Comical_. He’s trying to get me back and he’s buying stuff to have sex with other people. Fucking unbelievable.”

A pause. “Actually, it’s not. Because that’s—that’s Shane. That’s who—that’s the thing. It’s that I was meant to be with this person forever. He said this thing… that I was built to be abused, that—that I deserved it, that it was in my DNA to be with him, and I mean. I mean—what else am I supposed to do with that information? That’s what really bothered me, I think. Because for nine years, I believed that. That it was… I don’t know. The universe’s plan for me to feel like I was nothing. I felt like everything that I was feeling, all of that hurt and pain, I was meant to feel it. Because why else would I have been paired with him? Why did you get this perfect soulmate, and mine was just—fucking hell on Earth.”

“I don’t know,” Pete tells him truthfully. “Soulmates shit is weird. Tyler wasn’t meant to be with that Mark guy. Josh’s soulmate died before he could meet her so there wasn’t even any reason for a name in the first place. It doesn’t make any sense. But what I know for a fucking fact is that you aren’t weak. And that you weren’t born to… _be abused_ , fuck. I look at you and I’m still shocked at how strong you are. You were the one to push us to go to therapy. You were the one that wanted to get better, genuinely, while I was content with rotting away and being miserable about something that couldn’t be changed. Everything you do, it makes me a better person. Every time you call me and make sure I’ve taken my medication, or gotten me in the shower every time I drank too much or fucking sat next to me in the bathroom while I puked my brains out, every time I’m a bad person, you’re there, you’re there for me when I’m fucking ugly, when even I don’t want to be around me. I still think about that night on your balcony… when I said all of those things about being rotten and poisonous, about ruining everything I fucking touch, and I remember the way that you held me, like you weren’t afraid of me, even though I was afraid of myself. And the fact that you still believe in love, that’s courage. Okay? You’re not a coward for wanting to be happy, you’re not a coward for not telling me about the name. _I_ wouldn’t have told me.”

Patrick laughs again, all bubbly. “You wouldn’t have said anything?”

Pete shakes his head. “Probably not. Especially since I’ve been—admittedly, a fucking dick about the name.”

“Hey, no,” Patrick warns. “You’re allowed to feel some sort way about it. I get it—it’s not, it’s not anybody’s fault that it changed, but it still is weird. I promise, I’m not—I don’t care about the name, I don’t care if yours doesn’t change. I know there’s this stigma, but no one fucking knows us, knows our situation. I believe in us. Now more than ever.”

“I love you,” Pete says. He cradles Patrick’s face the way that Patrick’s been holding his, and he kisses his forehead, the side of his nose. “So fucking much.”

“I love you too,” Patrick smiles into their kiss, something soft and gentle but still with feeling, that much is accentuated with Patrick’s happy tears. “Wow, okay. This night is going way better than I thought it would.”

“I can’t believe you thought I was going to break up with you,” Pete says, laughing softly when Patrick shoves at his shoulders. “I was going to climb into your bed and snuggle with you and break up with you.”

“I had a bad day,” Patrick whines. “I _just_ woke up. There was a huge blowout. I assumed the worst, I always do. Especially since things between us have been… weird. Or is that just me?”

“No,” Pete admits. “I’ve been feeling it too. But I don’t think it’s anything besides—y’know. Miscommunication. _Understandable_ miscommunication, but. Miscommunication.”

He reaches for Patrick’s wrist, the one with his name on it, and Patrick lets him. This interaction is silent—but Patrick feels like they can understand each other without words. He lets out a content sigh when Pete’s hands brush over his wrist, wanting more. Pete kisses the name, _his_ name, on Patrick’s wrist, and Patrick lets out this sound similar to bells chiming in the summer air, though they are closer to October than June.

“ _F_ _uck_ ,” Patrick says quietly. “ _More_.”

“Wait,” Pete says, looking up. “Before we do anything else… I feel obligated to tell you that all of our friends are at Ash and Hayley’s, waiting to see how you’re doing. Like, all of them.”

Patrick blinks down at Pete. “Oh. Fuck. Um… okay. What, do they want to talk to me?”

Pete shrugs, and then reaches into his back pocket to give Patrick his phone. “I guess. When you weren’t answering your phone, I don’t know. Everyone sort of panicked.”

“Sorry,” Patrick looks through his contacts for Ashley’s name. “That was so stupid. I just needed to sleep everything out of my system, and—hi?”

“Guys, it’s Patrick!” Ashley says over the phone, though Patrick knows it’s moreso directed to the rest of his group of friends. “Ricky! How are—how are you? Listen, I just made this huge thing of spaghetti. Can we come over?”

“Come _over_?” Patrick asks, looking over to Pete who’s like half asleep in his bed. And he looks at himself, at the clothes he’s wearing, and the state of his bedroom. But then his stomach rumbles and then spaghetti doesn’t sound half-bad. Or bad at all. Actually, it sounds pretty fucking good. “Okay, just—my whole place is a mess. And I’m too fucked up to clean up. And Peter is… Peter. Half-asleep.”

“Hi,” Pete says, into Patrick’s pillows. “Hi, I want food too.”

“Okay, we’re gonna be there… in about five minutes. Love you,” she kisses him over the phone and then hangs up.

And then she shows up at Patrick’s place four and a half minutes later, with a huge Pyrex glass container of spaghetti, and five other people. They pile into the apartment and through Patrick’s bedroom door like a bunch of overly excited puppies, and when they all essentially tackle Patrick in his bed and smother him in hugs, this doesn’t come as much of a surprise. This is who his friends are— empathetic people that love cuddling. They talk over each other and they’re _so loud_ and it’s such a sensory overload, but Patrick welcomes it with open arms.

“You’re on top of my hair—Sam, ow!” _“Can you move over?”_ “Patrick, we were so worried.” _“Guys, shut up, I’m getting a migraine”_ “Can someone help me with dishing out the food?” _“Pete, move, it’s our turn to comfort Patrick.”_ “Yeah, I’ll help you!” _“Thanks! Let it be known that MJ is the only person here I give a fuck about.”_ “There’s too much happening right now!”

“I definitely agree that there is too much happening here,” Patrick laughs, shifting over so that everyone can be situated on the bed. It’s a weird fit, Sameer is still sort of on top of Josh’s hair, Hayley is searching through her purse to find some Advil for her growing migraine, and Ashley and MJ are at the edge of the bed, dishing out bowls of spaghetti _over_ the covers. Pete’s still curled into Patrick, but since he’s the one that got the door and let everyone in, he’s half falling off the bed.  And then there’s Tyler, who’s resting his head on Josh’s chest. He throws up a peace sign when Patrick looks over to him, and Patrick notices immediately that his knuckles are bandaged up. And when he looks to Tyler’s face, there’s a very visible purple mark over his cheek.

“What happened to you?” Patrick asks, gawking at Tyler’s bruises.

“Wait, before we get to that,” Ashley hands Patrick a bowl of spaghetti. “Eat.”

“I can do both!” Patrick says, and he looks over to Pete. “Did you know about this?”

Pete gives a one shoulder sort of shrug. “Yeah, but I didn’t wanna tell the story.”

“I guess this fool really was knocked out,” Tyler grins. “Ashley put it on her Snap six hours ago.”

“You know I only downloaded that because you told me to, it’s nothing I actually check.”

“Yeah, for things like this! Anyways—Sam, my phone is dead, show him.”

“Wait, what am I looking at?”

Though the answer seems so clear, it’s been a rough day for Patrick and his brain is definitely not working on his side. Both MJ and Pete reach for Sam’s phone before Tyler can hand it over to Patrick, though.

“Okay, this wasn’t my idea,” Pete prefaces. “It was two against four. Guys, I feel like this is like. Highly fucking triggering.”

“What is it?” Patrick urges. “I’m assuming Tyler won…?”

“What?! Of course I won!”

“ _Tyler_ ,” MJ brings a hand to her forehead. “Okay, so you know how… Tyler was already out of the restaurant by the time you left.”

Patrick nods. “Yeah, I remember that. Because he was being super cryptic.”

“And you know how Tyler is a certifiable madman?” Pete asks, and Tyler interrupts the two of them. “You guys are terrible at this. And I’m not crazy. I just have a lot _, a lot_ , of internalized rage. You know that Avengers quote, like… fuck, I’m forgetting it. I’m blanking.”

“That’s my secret, Cap. I’m always angry,” Josh looks up from typing on his phone.  “Sorry. Didn’t we see that together?”

“Yeah, we got kicked out though,” Tyler says. “That’s why I don’t remember the exact line.”

“I was there too,” Sam says. “And I was kicked out too. Even though _I_ had _nothing_ to do with the two of you deciding that the movie theaters would have been a good place to fuck.”

“Yeah, too bad for that,” Tyler rolls his eyes. “Anyways—not the point. And don’t give me that look, Hayley, the theater was empty—” “Except for me!” “You don’t count! _Anyways_ — I have a lot of internalized rage that I can access really easily. Not that I really needed to, just seeing Shane’s fucking punchable face, it was easy for me to get riled up.”

Patrick drops Sam’s phone like it’s a hot knife—it almost falls in his now half-empty bowl of pasta.

“No fucking way,” Patrick’s eyes widen. “Tyler.”

“And dude, like. I felt _really_ bad,” Tyler admits. “About the—y’know. Rainbow sprinkles. It was my fault.”

“That’s not true,” Patrick stresses. “I was just being dramatic.”

“No, you weren’t, and I agree that it was—I mean, I can’t keep doing this shit. It’s stupid. And dude, like I said. You’re my fucking blood. So I just… clocked out early and beat the shit out of him when he tried to come after you.”

“I’m confused,” Patrick keeps staring at Tyler’s bandaged hands. Picturing Tyler punching Shane until his knuckles split and bled is—it’s a terrifying image. And now Tyler is here, getting his hair played with by Josh, and being the same annoyingly endearing person to walk the Earth. “No one called the police on you? No one did anything?”

“Who was going to call the police on me? Ashley?” Tyler asks, but he doesn’t say it in a tone that makes Patrick seem stupid. “It was really some back alley shit, no one saw. And I said some things that—basically, Shane wasn’t going to talk.”

“What did you say?” Patrick asks.

Tyler shrugs. “Uh. Like, don’t fuck with my friends again and come back here or I’ll kill you? Er. An empty threat. I swear. I don’t want to go to jail.”

“You told him that was a threat,” Ashley says. “You said, and I quote, _‘there’s more where that came from, and that’s a fucking threat!’_ ”

“Yeah, but I didn’t specify what _kind_ of a threat it was—an empty one,” Tyler explains to Patrick, like that’s helpful. “Dude, I fucked him up. He won’t be bothering you anymore.”

“But how do you know that?” Patrick stresses.

“I mean, I would file a restraining order against him, first off. Especially since—I mean, we all saw what happened. But y’know. You don’t have to watch the video. I guess Pete is right, which is rare. Just—like, you know everything that happened ‘in my past’. I keep that shit in my chest. And I kept thinking about you, and how you’re such a good and genuine and real friend to me and how you don’t deserve to be terrorized by someone like that, who knows that they have an advantage over you.”

“Plus, Tyler definitely got something out of it,” Hayley snickers, and Ashley dips her head in the crook of Hayley’s neck to laugh too. Josh looks up again and he bites his lip when Tyler looks over to him, so that Josh can defend him, he won’t see that he’s laughing too.

“What? I’m out of the loop again,” Patrick groans, and Sam shakes his head. “We all have this theory that Tyler gets turned on by it.”

“Not Shane!” Tyler quickly says. “And I don’t get _turned on_. I just… get into this headspace, I don’t know. The fact that Josh and I fucked right after in the bathroom was _totally_ separate.”

“Wait,” Pete interrupts. “Wait, wait, wait, wait.”

“Oh… yeah, I don’t have irritable bowel syndrome,” Josh says. “Sorry that I lied...”

“The bathroom was locked for twenty minutes,” Pete brings a hand to his forehead. “Twenty fucking minutes, how long does it even take for—”

“Twenty minutes is _not_ a long time,” Tyler argues. “Especially since my hands were still a little bit bloody and it was messy. I beat up your boyfriend’s crazy ex, I should have gotten—dude, I should have gotten paid to do it afterwards.”

“You should have gotten paid to—oh, you should’ve gotten fucking paid to have—I can’t deal with you right now,” Pete rolls over so that he’s lying on top of Patrick and he pulls the comforters over his head (a hard task, since there are seven other people on it as well). “Bye.”

“Okay, okay, fuck, I want to see it. I want to see the video,” Patrick says. “Is it—I mean, is it really that bad?”

“It’s not,” Ashley reassures him. “It was from a distance because—y’know, I didn’t want to get blood on my apron.”

“There wasn’t even that much blood,” Josh says. “No one’s face was mangled beyond the point of recognition. We wouldn’t be here, then, we’d be bailing Tyler out of jail.”

“No, I’d still be here,” Ashley grins. “Tyler could wait a day or two.”

“Wait, you guys are friends again,” Patrick blinks at everyone in his bed. It’s a late reaction, definitely, but suddenly he notices that there isn’t any tension at all. And Josh and Tyler are really close. And Sam isn’t playing mediator. And no one looks unhappy.  “Is this just for show?”

“Everyone made up,” Sam says, looking like a proud parent. Tyler and Ashley just roll their eyes at him, but it’s a good moment, because they’re rolling their eyes at the same thing! “The split second decision for whether or not Tyler was going to beat the shit out of Shane was a group effort and I know I wasn’t the only one who missed being a group. Especially since everyone was there when Tyler had to clean up after all of that. We were all huddled in the bathroom. Uh, before things got heated.”

“So much good came out of this,” Patrick says, looking around at all of his friends, looking at the content smile on Tyler’s face, looking at the Pete-sized lump underneath the covers. “Pete and I talked everything through… we’re all friends now… Tyler and Josh made up…?”

“Yeah, we’re—taking it slow,” Tyler says. “Our talk last month had been weighing on me. J and I had this whole conversation while we were fucking, there was a lot happening. Today has been crazy.”

“It’s not as—we _did_ genuinely talk about it afterwards,” Josh clarifies. “I don’t want to say that good came out of Shane coming here though… that sounds a little fucked up.”

“No, it’s okay! I think that good _did_ come out of this… as fucked as that sounds. It’s a new start, I can finally move on. If I had any doubts about leaving Shane, any lingering feelings about it, this just completely eliminated them. And you guys are friends again, besides Pete and Tyler, and you and Tyler are working on your relationship and it all happened because of _him_. That’s crazy.”

“Yeah, I don’t really know if closure is a thing,” Hayley says. “But this is the best closure _ever_.”

“Okay… I think I’m ready to see the video. No more interruptions,” Patrick takes a deep breath as Sam puts his password in and hands Patrick his phone. “It’s the second one.”

It’s pretty brutal, though Ashley’s caption **‘YUNG TYLER HE IN SICKO MODE!!"** makes him laugh at first glance. It’s exactly what they said it was going to be—Tyler, yelling profanities as he bashes in Shane’s face. Tyler is unrecognizable like this, snarling and throwing his arms back to deliver another punch like it’s second nature. There’s blood slicking up Tyler’s hands and it’s all over Shane’s face and the video ends on Tyler’s ‘empty threat’—‘I’ll _fucking_ kill you, do you understand? Don’t fucking come near Patrick again, don’t fucking think about Patrick again, or—’ and then it cuts out.

“An empty threat!” Tyler laughs, when Ashley, Sam, and Hayley all send exasperated and slightly worried glances his way. “I’m joking!”

“Are you okay?” Pete asks—he’s not hiding under the covers anymore. His hair is slightly messed up from it, sticking up in weird directions, and Patrick smiles gently as he fixes it for him. “Strangely… yeah. I don’t feel any way about it. I’m not happy or sad or anything. I just have Sicko Mode in my head now.”

“Dude, _same,”_ Ashley says. “Someone put it on.”

So, this is how the most hectic day of Patrick’s life ends (though it’s 2 in the morning the next day…). His boyfriend didn’t break up with him, he’s curled up next to him, a calming and warm and _loving_ presence. Shane’s face is bashed in and he’s definitely not coming near the restaurant anytime soon. His friends are all dog piled on his bed, eating bowls of spaghetti, and they’re not fighting _at all_. Oh, and they’re listening to Sicko Mode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually wrote the scene where tyler beats shanes ass but its told from tylers POV and i wanted to keep it as only patricks, so it got scraped :( also 'yung tyler he in sicko mode' was a tribute to my friend robyn because she hates when i bring up sicko mode :') SUN IS DOWN FREEZIN COLD THATS HOW WE ALREADY KNOW WINTER'S HERE 
> 
> again, i feel like this is where i get rlly negative like 'ugh. that was terrible terrible content!' but u know what.... 2019 year of positivity IM PROUD OF WHAT I WROTEEEEEEEEE but i feel like i could be more proud so please leave me a comment :) please 
> 
> also life updates: im seeing panic! at the disco at the barclays center and since today is the 16th, im seeing them today!! AHHH!!! ive never been to a concert w so many people (im going w 5 other people LMAO) so im excited to see how this works out... because we all love panic so much and like when i saw twenty one pilots in october, we were loud as fuck and SCREAMING and that was only w 3 of my friends so im excited... sorry if you're sitting behind us and just see us standing in a semi-circle (while in the seats) and shriekingn dsfhdjfdsf i wish i could link vids in the end notes like duuuude "ride" was a time i genuinely felt bad for the people around us because we were loud as fuck and we werent even singing the words right because of the adrenaline we were dead babbling jhjhdsajhdajd
> 
> also my fave song off trench is cut my lip and also morph!! but my blood has such a special place in my heart :( <3 alsooooooo im  
> just throwing this out there- im gonna see cody ko and noel miller on their tmg tour date in NYC so if anyone is going to that WE'RE LIT!!! im going to the meet and greet just to say hi to aleena and kelsey tbh... lemme kno if anyone has a fave song off locals only because mine is g-shit...


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